Pillars of Sand
by Bre-dust2dust34
Summary: Sequel to Pillars of Salt. Dean is trying to live the "normal" life he promised he would after Sam's leap into the cage but he is plagued with guilt, regret and memories that shouldn't be. Enter Buffy with a few souvenirs that shouldn't be of her own...
1. Chapter 1

Pillars of Sand

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Spoilers: SPN S6  
Rating: R/FR18 (very dark themes, violence, sexual content, language)  
Distribution: Please ask me first.  
Author's Notes: Second story in The Pillars Trilogy. I **highly recommend** you read Pillars of Salt before you read this but it's not entirely necessary, I tried to cover some ground from that fic although it might confuse more than help if you haven't read PoS1. This story will be darker than PoS1. I am taking elements from the first episode of SPN S6 - please think of this fic as a sort of lead into what S6 becomes although there are spoilers for later S6. I took some elements of the book The Lost Slayer by Christopher Golden as well. Contains some Lisa/Dean.  
Author's Notes 2: This story is not complete as Pillars of Salt was so it will not be updated at nearly such an insane rate.  
Author's Notes 3: I don't know crap about guns. I know they shoot bullets. So if my slight mention of something makes me sound like a moron, I accept that. I tried, damn it.  
Timeline: Set in the year between S5 and S6 of Supernatural. Post S7 of Buffy. I don't go into comic canon.  
Feedback: Always appreciated! Thank you for the response to Pillars of Salt, I hope this one doesn't disappoint!

Summary: _Sequel to Pillars of Salt_. Dean is trying to live the normal Joe life he promised he would after Sam's leap into the cage with Lucifer but he is plagued with guilt, regret and thoughts of the woman he really wants. His world gets turned upside down when he runs into her again only to find that he wasn't the only one left with a souvenir from their last meeting.

* * *

"_I guess… the feeling that I wasn't really here. It was like… when I clawed my way out of that grave, I left something behind. Part of me. I just… I don't understand…"_

* * *

**Chapter One**

The door opened with a whisper. The light from the moonlight bathed everything inside the abandoned house with stark white light, the shadows bouncing to life, rats scurrying away from the intrusion.

The doorjamb was dusty where her fingers touched it and she pulled them back, rubbing the stained fingers against her thumb, the noise of the aged dirt chafing against her skin the only sound surrounding her.

The night behind her was quiet; deadly quiet. It knew what evil lingered in this house.

The echo of rough leather snapping loose rushed through the hallway as the door widened enough for her to enter and she felt the familiar cool metal of the iron knife at her hip. Running her fingers over it, she moved to grip the handle, her fist tight as she stepped through the doorway.

A bright flicker tickled the edge of her vision and she turned to look when a scream suddenly erupted from next to her, the noise piercing her eardrum. She acted without thinking, on instinct, as the knife slid easily from its holster. She quickly jammed it into the spirit of the man who had appeared, the knife slicing through empty air as he burned away a rush of angry fire.

But not gone.

"Come on, buddy," she rasped, "Let's get this over with."

Wrinkling her nose at the smell of the surrounding decay, mold and dead rodent bodies, she moved further into the dark house, flipping the knife calmly as she started searching the rooms for the man's body.

* * *

_Month Two_

Dean Winchester stood at the open window, the stagnant night air touching his face as a warm breeze brushed past him. He barely reacted to it, his eyes staring at nothing, his body motionless, the glass in his hand forgotten, his mind lost.

It was like a constant movie projector of the Worst Winchester Moments running through his mind. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Sam. All he saw when he opened them was Sam. All he thought about was the horror, the sickness, the guilt, the pain as he watched his brother tumble into the hole, Lucifer held down within, with their half-brother eclipsed by Michael... fall away, sucked into the ground, gone. Forever. Gone forever.

Forever.

Dean took a shaky breath, wiping away the lone tear that escaped his burning eyes. It never changed: Sam always fell. Sam was always gone and there was nothing he could do about it. He was stuck here on this earth, alone, and his brother was locked away, somewhere he couldn't reach, couldn't touch. He was gone. And Dean was just here, unable to do anything about it, find anything to help his little brother.

Dean closed his eyes, bowing his head against the night, the familiar guilt in his chest filling him to the brink. It was like a white hot pressure inside, waiting to burst but never quite getting to that point... it was always there in anticipation, letting each moment slip by, feeling like it was getting bigger and hotter but nothing ever happened. Sometimes it ebbed into a gentle, constant presence and sometimes, like right now, he felt like his heart was ready to explode as he pictured Sam's face.

"Damn it, Sammy," he whispered to himself, another tear escaping.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Dean blinked away the rest of the tears, turning to look up at the sky. How many times had he called Cas? How many times had he been ignored? There was no one up there who would help him and there was nothing down here to guide him. He was lost without his brother, sick knowing that he was trapped inside a cage with the freaking devil while he lived upstairs, in a life that was nothing like the one he wanted.

He wanted Sam, alive. He wanted to be on the road, moving. He wanted someone else, someone he couldn't have, couldn't find. Another person he couldn't touch because they weren't his. Everything had slipped through his fingers and he had just sat back and let it happen...

Dean looked around the front yard of the house where he now lived. The moonlight was bathing everything and all Dean saw was daylight. The daylight of the day he had arrived in the cemetery. The daylight where Lucifer, using his brother's body, had beaten him into a bloody pulp - because he could, because he was there, there for his brother in ways Lucifer had never felt - before Sam resurfaced. The daylight where Sam conquered and then said his silent goodbyes before...

The daylight of the next day, waking up alone in the crap motel room, next to an empty bed, an untouched bed. None of Sam's crap in the bathroom, none of his crappy morning protein bars in the Impala. None of Sam.

No more Sam.

No more anything.

Dean bit his tongue, pursing his lips. How long had he waited before he came here? How long had he wandered around? He had tried to find her before going anywhere but she was like a damn ghost. And what would have happened had he found her? What comfort could she have given him? All he could see everywhere he looked was Sam and all he found he wanted that next day was to find her, take comfort in her. Even if just for a moment...

But the last time they had seen each other, she had only been worried about her car. The woman he had met, the woman whom he had spent a lifetime with before having it all erased... was gone. Wasn't his. Wasn't his to help him, wasn't his to hold him, be there for him. Wasn't his for him to lean on and be his sanctuary, like his future self had had... The woman who he carried around in his heart was literally a ghost in his mind - a ghost Zachariah had created to torture him and to make him say yes to Michael. Oh, he was getting the torture part down, nice and snug, the stupid dead bastard.

He had lost her. And now he had lost Sammy. What was there worth living for, really, anymore?

So he had gone to Lisa. Because Sam had asked him to. Because he hadn't known about Buffy and because Dean thought there was a part of him that actually wanted this "normal" life. But not because he hadn't been able to find her... it was because this was one promise he was not going to break to his brother.

He got here eventually and while a part of him did want to be here, playing this part, another part of him knew it was because it was what Sam had wanted for him.

To be normal. To get out of the life. To find love and happiness and peace and all that crap.

Shaking his head, Dean made himself look at what he had come to check on. The salt line surrounding the perimeter of the house that had started on the inside before Lisa mentioned what a disaster it was to clean up. Dean knew what she had really meant: he was taking it a little too far. So he had moved it outside, burying salt around every inch of the house and refreshing it every single night.

He knew they thought he was being ridiculous but he also knew what was out there... What came to kill you in your sleep when you least expected it, were least prepared for it...

The salt was still there, killing everything it touched, salted earth where nothing could grow...

"Dean?"

Dean turned, the soft voice startling him, clenching the glass in his hand a little tighter. Lisa stood at the top of the stairs, her hand on the banister, her hair long around her shoulders. She took a few steps down before pausing.

Silent invitation. Invitation for something he didn't deserve. Shouldn't have, shouldn't keep. Something he should want. He wanted to want her, her life, their life but...

"Yeah," he drawled. "I'll be up in a minute." He offered her a weak half smile. Her face was lost in the shadows but he knew the little smile she always wore by heart anymore. It was the only smile she threw his way: pity and sadness and wanting to help but having no idea what to do.

When she turned to go back to the room, he turned back to closing the window, shutting the blinds and pulling the curtains over. He heard her quiet footsteps as she returned to bed.

She was always there, always watching, always waiting. He was sure she was waiting for the night when he cracked and she would have to pick up the pieces. Again, like the night he first came to her... He had fallen apart. Sam was gone and he had literally spent his last breath trying to find Buffy before falling into Lisa's lap, everything he had loved gone. He didn't tell Lisa that she was his last resort, his last idea of sanctuary against himself. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her, he did. Maybe he really had fallen for her when he first met Ben, saw the life he could have had, could have saved for himself... but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough because it wasn't what he had pictured, in the end.

The end, what a joke. But he knew one thing for sure: meeting Buffy had changed things. Zachariah stepping in had completely wrecked him although he would never have admitted that to anyone, especially about a woman he knew once in high school, once for just a few days before she disappeared. In his head, in his heart, in the memories from the Dean that would never come to fruition from 2014 since Lucifer was down for the count… it had been much longer...

Somehow, since Sam had jumped, since he had finally tried to turn to her for comfort, his memory of her had gotten more vivid. Sam had been his distraction against it all, against the memories that weren't his but felt so much like they were his, like he had lived that life in 2014; against the nightly dreams, reminding him of what he had pushed away, what he had given away, what he had lost... and now, all he had left...

And now he couldn't get rid of the feeling that this wasn't his life. This wasn't his woman, his kid... he was an imposter, a fraud, a lie. A walking lie, beautifully orchestrated because he had promised.

And this was one damn promise he wouldn't break.

Dean went through his nightly mechanics, checking every window, every lock. He checked the doors, shut every curtain. He made sure the lines painted discreetly at each entrance were unbroken - devil's traps. Glancing under the sink, he saw the jug of holy water sitting securely behind all the cleaning chemicals. Behind the fridge was the gun he had taped there and underneath one of the large plants in the living room was still the knife he had stashed.

Everything was where he had left it. Everything was exactly where he had put it...

Closing his eyes, Dean rubbed his face tiredly, finishing off the scotch before moving to put the empty glass in the kitchen. Rinsing it out, he set it on the counter sink before moving to check the front door one more time. Checking the bolt, he glanced out the long window parallel to the door...

It was almost too fast for him to catch, and had he done anything other than hunt his entire life, he would have missed it. Missed the glimpse of something white move too quickly to be anything other than something that shouldn't be there.

Dean stopped breathing, stopped moving as he stared at the spot on the opposite side of the front yard. Nothing moved though, nothing swayed. Even the breeze seemed to have stopped. Glancing back up the stairs to make sure Lisa wasn't there, he unbolted the door quietly and stepped outside, the cool wood of the front porch chilling his feet.

He glanced left, right, before once again scanning everything in front of him. Lisa did an amazing job with gardening; she had turned the lawn into a mini-forest. Plant life, flowers, bushes; everything was well-tended and growing, beautiful to an eye taught to appreciate it.

But all Dean saw was cover, things someone or something could hide behind. Stepping forward, Dean paused at the steps, wondering if he had imagined it. It was possible. He hadn't hunted anything after Sam took the swan dive. What was the point? Hadn't he given enough? Why should he help the poor saps of the world when it only made him lose everything and everyone he loved the most?

Was his brother's death not enough sacrifice? Was the fact that he had turned every single stone upside down he could find and yet, no way to get him out... wasn't that enough for one lifetime?

So maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. That didn't stop Dean from stepping down and searching all of the foliage though. Nothing was amiss as he gently pushed leaves out of the way, stepping lightly on the grass, the night cooler than inside the house. He felt a chill on his back and he paused, looking over his shoulder.

But nothing was there.

Dean stopped when he found a little clearing behind the large oak tree. It was almost pitch black but the moonlight was enough for him to see that there were clear footprints in the damp dirt. The person had been leaning forward on the balls of their feet, their fingers in the dirt. Dean crouched down, touching the dirt lightly but it gave nothing else away. They were small feet, that was clear enough, but whose?

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he made a fist. No, it could be anything. How many times did he look outside during the day to see Ben rummaging through these very leaves? Hell, the kid could have been sitting back here the entire afternoon and Dean wouldn't know about it...

Dean stood, frowning at himself before turning away, wiping his fingers on his sweat pants as he took the front steps quickly. When he reached the door, he turned to give the area one more glance before going inside.

He had to have been imagining things - a flash of white? Nobody knew where he was, not even Bobby. He had been more than careful enough to cover his tracks, hide away from the things that make the night go bump. Not for his sake but for Lisa and Ben's. He was seeing things, thinking too much about Sam, about a huge, gut-sucking hole in the ground that pulled everything sunshine-y and rose-y into it without apology... about a woman who was a mirage…

Dean made himself close the door, lock it tightly. He allowed himself one more look out the window before turning and going upstairs. It wasn't the first time his mind had played tricks on him and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. How many stories had he rehashed explaining to Lisa the type of life he really led? The look on her face when he told her about witches, vampires, wendigos, shapeshifters... And then giving Ben the abbreviated version?

He looked in Ben's room and saw he was asleep, the soft glow from the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling creating an ethereal environment. Nothing was out of place, everything was good. Ben slept deeply, the kind of sleep that only someone who hadn't seen what can hide under a bed can sleep. Sure, he heard the stories, heard that things aren't always what they seem and if he saw something a little weird around the house, not to worry about it...

Dean wanted it to stay that way forever. Just a thought, not reality, to the kid.

Yet another reason he was an imposter in this house. He was a monster that hunted the monsters.

Dean paused outside of the room that he shared with Lisa, just as he did every night since he had moved in with her. The trepidation he felt was lessening with each day he stayed in this life but that didn't mean it wasn't there. That sensation that he just didn't belong…

He knew she wasn't asleep as he finally pushed the door open and climbed into the bed, adjusting the comforter. She moved in tandem, waiting for him to settle before moving into his arms.

He let her in, let her lay her head on his chest as he sank into the too-soft mattress, his head heavy on the pillow before he stared at the ceiling. He felt her light sigh as she burrowed against him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder lightly, pressing his face into her hair, taking a deep breath, welcoming the familiar ping of disappointment.

It was only another sad reminder that she wasn't the one he wanted, needed. It wasn't Buffy.

Pushing her out of his mind, he let his mind hit replay on the Worst Winchester Moments once again.

And just like every other night of the two months since Sam had jumped, Dean listened to Lisa fall asleep as he stared into nothingness.

* * *

"Holy fuck!"

The creature in front of her hissed and she heard the distinctive sounds of something popping coming from inside what used to be Stan the Electrician's head before his jaw started distending. She saw his eyes weren't human anymore, sliding easily into evil little reptilian slits as the creature crouched, ready to pounce.

"What in the hell is that thing?" someone shouted from behind her but she didn't turn. Instead, she rolled her eyes. Normies

"Why don't you just scamper off and let the big kids dance, huh?" she asked the person who was currently having a panic attack, her voice full of dry amusement as she pulled out her two 1911 R1s, both full of consecrated iron. "Or just sit there and shut the hell up."

She fired.

* * *

_Month Four_

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Dean started, jerking his head back to look at his table mate as he waved his fingers in front of Dean's face. Sid sat opposite him, his new official drinking buddy and neighbor. Dean offered him an apathetic smile.

"Dean, man, you are the ultimate king of zoning the hell out," Sid said, shaking his head with a grin as he leaned back, taking a drink from his beer.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Dean replied, nodding before taking a sip from his own beer, "I've just... got a lot on my mind."

"Well, talk to me," Sid said, waving his hands to indicate their surroundings. Dean looked around, his eyebrows lifted. "This is a place of zen men attitude, man." Sid paused, watching Dean give him a tight smile and he sighed, leaning forward. "Is it Lisa?"

"What?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "No, no. God, no. She's been... amazing. More than I deserve, that's for sure." Dean took another heavy pull from his beer and avoided eye contact with Sid. Instead, he gazed around the bar where he had taken to joining Sid almost every night after work for a cold one two months after they had moved into the neighborhood. It was neat, clean and upper scale compared to the rat traps he used to occupy on the road. He found he liked it - it was refreshing, different and did very little to remind him of everything he didn't want to remember...

That didn't mean the beer condensating in his hands didn't remind him of Sam. That didn't mean the hard-backed stool in which he sat didn't remind him of Sam. That didn't mean the jukebox that sat in the corner of the bar didn't remind him of Sam. Dean closed his eyes, pushing it out, away, forcing that sucking black hole in his chest to quiet down for a few more hours.

When he opened them, he saw Sid staring at him, and he offered a lame smile. Sid shook his head. "Alright, that's cool, man." Sid lifted his hand. "I understand. So what about that barbeque this weekend, huh? Your place, right?"

Dean took a deep breath. "That's the plan."

"Don't look too excited over there," Sid replied, his tone joking and Dean chuckled. He liked Sid. Sid was easy, he was... nice. He lived next door to their new house and his wife had brought them an actual fruitcake when they moved in. He was a cool guy. An uncomplicated guy. And uncomplicated was on the menu these days.

"Haven't really ever been a big BBQ guy, that's all." Dean took another sip.

"What kind of childhood did you have?" Sid asked with a laugh, not seeing the look Dean shot his way from underneath his brow, before Sid slapped the table. "Well, we're gonna change that, Winchester."

Dean just smiled at him. He heard the click of heels before he saw her but he watched Sid's visceral reaction, watched him watch the voluptuous woman walk by before turning back to Dean, an incredulous look on his face. "She didn't even notice I existed. What the hell is it about you?"

Dean hadn't even noticed anything himself. He looked over at where the woman was headed and he shook his head. "I don't know. It's like they specifically know I'm unavailable."

"Hey, I'm unavailable." Dean smirked but didn't respond and Sid shook his head at him. "I don't know about this whole hanging out together thing anymore... You're kinda stealing the little thunder I had." He let out a loud laugh, turning back again to check out the woman where she sat with a group.

Dean smiled at him. Glancing in the same direction, he saw another woman turning her back to him and swiftly exiting the bar. She slipped out the door before Dean could even blink and he felt his entire body tense, his stomach clench in both anticipation and dread as he was assaulted with familiarity of the person... It couldn't be, there was no way... what were the chances?

Dean moved too quickly, sweeping his arm across the table as he moved to bolt after the mystery woman but his arm slapped his beer instead, causing it to fly off the table and smash into the ground. Beer splashed everywhere and he heard Sid's reaction but it got lost in the hazy white noise in his mind as he stared at the now empty door. He felt his heart racing, his limbs suddenly weak when Sid gripped his arm, shaking him slightly.

"Dean! Hey, Earth to Dean in there."

"What?" Dean shook his head, looking around before glancing at the floor where a waitress was picking up pieces of his bottle, mopping up the spoiled beer with a threadbare rag. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry."

The waitress offered him a thin smile before standing with her unwanted booty. Sid cocked his head. "Are you okay?"

Dean jerked to look at Sid, blinking rapidly and rubbing his face. "Wow, man, I'm sorry. I just... I thought I... saw somebody."

Sid tuned to the door where nobody had been for the last minute and he frowned back at his new friend. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

Dean let out a heavy breath as he said, "Yeah."

"Well," Sid said, nodding his thanks to the waitress when she came back to finish the job. She walked through Dean's line of sight and Sid frowned when Dean moved to look around her. "Uh, you want to get another one?"

"What?" Dean finally turned to him and he furrowed his brow. "Oh, no. No, um... I'm gonna take off, actually."

"What? We just got here."

"Yeah, sorry. I gotta... go." And with that, Dean grabbed his jacket from where he had it draped over his seat and left without another word. He didn't feel Sid's confused eyes following him from the bar as he shrugged the jacket on, shouldering the door open and stepping into the cold night air.

Dean immediately looked both ways up and down the street but he saw no one fitting the picture in his mind of the woman he had just seen. Dean shook his head at himself, turning in a slow circle, wondering what it was he had just seen... His breath fogged in front of him and he made a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair. He knew what he had seen. He knew exactly what he had just seen.

How many thousands of memories walked through his brain like it was an amusement park? How many times could he pull from out of nowhere that exact walk, exactly what she looked like when she walked away from him, just like that woman had, in the years that Zachariah had force-fed his brain?

There was no rhyme, no reason, to the memories. It took just a simple thought or a simple action for his mind to unlock a memory that wasn't his... but it was his, in a warped sense. It was 2014 Dean's memories... although not anymore. But that didn't mean they weren't still alive and thriving in his mind, so vivid that if felt like someone slapped him in the face with a different reality with the snap of a finger. Just like watching that woman walk out the door.

Dean shook his head. Ever since Sam had... died, it had gotten worse. Ever since he hadn't been able to find Buffy, it had gotten worse. He didn't have anything to focus on, nothing to shift his emotions, his anger towards. He was left with the mush his brain had been turned into. Mush that made him constantly remember things that he didn't remember doing but he knew he had done. Like the first time he called Buffy a whiny little bitch, the look he had received before she turned and walked out the door. A door in Bobby's house...

But that hadn't happened in this world. It would never happen. But damn it, it felt so real because it had been real to his future self...

It had to be her.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said under his breath, turning once more, unsure if he should start walking, try to follow a path, see where it took him. But he had no idea where to start...

"Hey," Sid said, sliding out next to him. Dean turned to stare at him, his mouth still gaped and Sid's face immediately melted into a concerned look. "Whoa, man, you really don't look so good. Are you okay?"

Dean pushed his face into his hands, instantly regretting it when the first thing he saw was Sam, standing before him, staring down at him and he popped his eyes back open. That little black hole that he fooled himself into thinking he had under control grew a little bigger and he swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, man," he said, his voice jagged. "I'm good." Forcing a smile on his face, he slapped Sid's shoulder before turning towards his truck. "Just a long day, that's all..."

* * *

Holy water. Salt. Iron.

She leaned forward so she could see into the quickly emptying bowl of what was left of her holy water, sticking the eye dropper back in and sucking more of the liquid into it. Her face was empty as she stood back up, raising it to eye level and cocking her head.

"It's amazing that your eyeballs don't just melt or something," she said mockingly, turning back to the slumped over man tied in the green metal chair. Chains and rope held him securely in place as he lolled his head to give his captor an amused smile.

"It's amazing how stupid you hunters insist on being," he drawled. "You know this is just a costume party, right?" He used his head to emphasize the body he wore, especially the large tire iron sticking out from his thigh, as he blinked his black eyes at her. "You're just damaging the goods of poor Todd here."

"Sucks to be Todd, I guess," she drawled back, not blinking an eye as she entered the large devil's trap, grabbing the man's chin and forcing his head back with her elbow before prying one of his eyes open. She didn't miss the streak of fear that coursed through the demon... It made her smile. "Now how about you start talking?"

A moment later, an unearthly scream echoed from the abandoned condos, reaching nobody's ears.

* * *

_Month Five_

"It goes... right here?"

Dean smirked, nodding in approval as he smiled at Ben. "Yeah. Good job."

A delighted smile lit up the boy's face as he leaned farther forward under the hood of the truck, his arm stretched to reach farther back. Dean watched him, shaking his head in amazement at how quickly Ben was picking this stuff up before wiping his hands on the oil-soaked rag in his hands.

"Boys, look alive," Lisa said from inside the garage and they turned in tandem. She shot them a half-smile. "Dinner's done."

Ben hopped down from the overturned bucket he had been standing on to reach into the truck engine, already racing towards the door when Dean said loudly, "Whoa there, killer!"

Ben stopped in mid-step, paused as he looked back at Dean. Dean gestured to the engine. "This isn't how you treat your baby, dude."

"What?"

"What?" Dean mocked, handing him a fistful of tools. "Go put those away."

Ben shot him an impatient look before saying, "Okay," and heading towards the tall-standing toolbox.

Dean shook his head before wiping down the area they had been working on and shutting the hood, wondering if maybe he was rubbing off on Ben in too many smart ass ways. He heard the toolbox shut and he yelled over his shoulder, "And wash your hands, you know your mom has a cow when you don't," as Ben's quick feet took off towards the door leading into the house.

"Yeah," Ben shouted back as he disappeared.

Wiping off the hood once more, Dean took a deep breath, looking up at the light sky. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue over the remaining clouds. Turning his eyes towards the sunset, Dean squinted against it, feeling an odd sense of peace for a split second before the bitter twist in his gut reminded him there was no such thing as peace. Then he remembered and then he thought about a different kind of orange hue... hellfire. Dean licked his lips, slapping the rag against his hand before turning towards the garage, feeling that oh so familiar hot pressure in his chest starting to ache.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw a glint from a passing car and without thinking, Dean turned to watch it. But it wasn't just any car. Dean frowned at the backside of the Jeep as it turned onto the next street, its tires squealing slightly as it took the corner too fast. He didn't catch a glimpse of the driver though and Dean stopped, staring at the spot where it had been...

No. No, it was his mind leaping to conclusions. Dean furrowed his brow before turning back to the garage, throwing the rag in the corner and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Forests all smell the same at night. When the sun sets, when the creatures retreat for the night, when the predators come out...

She ran. She pushed herself harder, her eyes sharp as she watched her prey trying to escape. The long machete bounced painfully against the leg but she ignored it as she put on an extra burst of speed, ignoring the raging burn in her lungs, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

Using a rock as leverage, she vaulted herself through the air, tackling him to the ground with a loud crack. They fell unceremoniously, limbs lacing together as they both fought for dominance. The vampire slammed the back of his fist across her face, his knuckles impacting hard against her cheekbone but she didn't pause. Swallowing the rush of blood from her cheek where she bit herself, she rolled with the blow, turning it around on him so she was suddenly straddling him on the ground.

In a blur, she had her machete out, pressed against the vampire's neck as he growled up at her, the second set of teeth coming out to play. She smirked down at him, pressing down hard on the weapon where she started sawing away at his neck. The vampire suddenly stiffened, his grip losing strength.

"Dead man's blood," she said simply, eyeing the blade where she had let the corpse's blood dry on there, before she spat the blood in her mouth into his face as she worked the blade and he hissed, her spittle leaking into his eye.

It always took longer to kill a vampire this way, sawing and hacking, struggling with them. But it felt better. Especially when the body suddenly went limp and the head rolled away from its body.

* * *

_Month Six_

Dean pushed the cart down the grocery aisle, eyeing everything on the shelves with a critical eye. How was it possible that people could justify asking that much for some freaking spaghetti noodles? Really? He watched Lisa as she grabbed two packages of the more-expensive noodles as compared to the cheap ones below them. He made a face at her and she frowned back. "What?"

"You really buy these?" he asked, pointing at the package.

Lisa smirked. "I don't see you complaining when I make your spaghetti and meatballs."

Dean opened his mouth to respond before conceding. But he eyed the price. Maybe this is why he never went on these stupid shopping trips. "But really, $5.99 for that tiny box? $5.99?" He reached out, grabbing the thinner noodles in the thick plastic package, waving them in her face. "This is only $3.24."

Lisa rolled her eyes before moving on, a small smile on her face. She heard Dean toss the package back on the shelf, grumbling to himself and she shook her head in amusement. Dean pushed the cart further down the aisle, wondering whatever had possessed him to come along today. Lisa had asked, he had said sure. It was almost like the domestic thread in his life was wrapping tighter and tighter… and he wasn't doing a damn thing about it. Christ, maybe he was even actually enjoying it.

Dean turned to see Ben roaring down the aisle, his arms full with a mess of items. He watched with a smile when Lisa turned before rolling her eyes. "Ben, I said grab more mayo, not the entire candy aisle."

"It's only Twizzlers," Ben responded, giving Dean a 'seriously' look to which Dean responded with a wink before depositing them in the cart. Lisa reached in and removed most of the packages and handed them back. "What? Mom, come on."

"No, don't try that on me, mister. Go put those back."

"Oh, I don't think so," Dean said, stepping in and taking the candy from Lisa. They both looked up at him and he smiled. "This is poker food, baby." Ben shot his mom a mocking smile and Dean pointed down at him. "Which means not Ben food."

"What? That's not fair."

"Oh, yeah," Dean drawled, putting the candy in the upper basket next to Lisa's purse as he turned to push the cart again. "Life sucks."

Ben scoffed. "It does suck."

Dean turned to look at Ben over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. Not even a few months ago, Dean would have let it slip that Ben didn't even know how good he had it but he refrained. He was learning to refrain. Ben didn't know what it was like growing up in motels, living out of old cans and moldy cereal boxes and being responsible for feeding your little brother while your dad disappeared for weeks on end… Dean frowned, pushing the memories away, before looking forward again and Lisa reached out, touching his arm. She offered him a tentative smile. "You okay?"

Dean stared at her for a split second too long, wondering what his face was giving away before he smiled at her and glanced at Ben. He chucked the kid in the shoulder when he saw the sullen look on his face. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Lisa nodded at him before saying, "Okay. Good," and turning back to her list. Dean smiled after her, watching Ben walk past both of them. He wasn't sure what he should say, if he should say anything. He was getting better about saying the right things; at least he thought he was…

This whole faux-parenting thing? Kind of a kick in the ass.

An hour later, Dean pushed the cart through the parking lot, the crappy wheels jerking to and fro as he pushed it across the rough asphalt towards his truck. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Lisa and Ben standing in line at the little coffee cart inside the store. Lisa's arm was wrapped around Ben's shoulder as they talked and he frowned. He was worried. Like a freaking girl, he was worried that he had done it again - said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing or even worse not said anything at all. That was the hard one, not saying anything when he was supposed to say something. It happened or slipped out without his even realizing it and he didn't know how to predict what kind response he would get to any of it.

Feeling gloomier than when they had arrived, Dean pulled the cart to an abrupt stop and started piling the bagged groceries in the bed of his truck. Tying them as he went so crap didn't start flying out when they took off, Dean was leaning into it when a loud shot rang out into the air behind him, immediately echoing against the surrounding buildings.

"Holy!" Dean snapped, dropping to the ground in a low crouch, gripping the truck for leverage as he spun on his heels to look behind him. Breathing heavily, Dean's eyes flew around the parking lot but there was nobody. There wasn't anybody around, he realized but he didn't care as he moved quickly. Reaching the driver's side door, he jammed his keys in the lock before swinging it open, his hand already moving towards the holster he had hidden underneath his seat. The same insurance as the crap in the house. As his truck. As Lisa's car.

He felt the cool reassuring metal touch his fingertips when he glanced out the windshield and everything froze as he stopped breathing. A waif of a woman with long blonde hair pulled back in a messy braid ran away from him. She ran like her, she moved like her. Her hair... her body... and was that a gun holster on her leg? There was no way… Dean's jaw dropped as he leaned forward, squinting against the glaring sun when his chin slammed into the steering wheel.

"Damn it," he said, feeling an icy fist gripping his heart as he whipped his head out of the cab, staring at the direction he had seen her running. What the hell, what the hell had that been? His lips were already forming her name and he was ready to move out and go running after her when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Dean jumped, turning around wildly. Lisa stepped back when he glared at her, her brow furrowed. His eyes flew to Ben who stood behind her, his hands in the bag with the Twizzlers, staring at him before Dean forced himself to calm down, to stop, to think. He turned back to where he had seen the woman but there was no one now...

"What? What's going on?" Lisa asked, following his eyes.

"Nothing," Dean replied immediately, his voice gruff as a rush of memories swept through his body. Running... being chased by demons, by vampires. That woman loved her vampires...

"Dean?"

"Nothing, it was nothing, sorry," Dean said, shaking his head to refocus as he plastered a smile on his face. He swallowed roughly before gesturing towards the parking lot. "Thought I, uh..." Dean rubbed his hands together. "I just heard something, that's all."

"Yeah," Lisa replied slowly. She stared at him. "That car backfiring?"

"What?"

She turned her eyes to look at a rusted bucket of crap that was sitting on the side of the road across the street, somebody stuck under the hood while a young woman sat in the driver's seat, looking frustrated as the guy under the hood yelled something at her. Dean frowned.

That sure as hell hadn't been a backfire. Had it? Then what had she been doing here, had he just freaking imagined that crap? Like a... like an echo or something? Dean felt like his eyebrows were gluing themselves together as he forced himself to look back at Lisa and Ben. He smiled again.

"Yeah. Caught me off guard." He ignored her look, knowing she was seeing right through the falsehood of his smile as he clapped his hands. "Why don't you guys get in and I'll finish, uh... loading."

Lisa raised an eyebrow but Dean didn't give her a chance, gesturing towards the truck. She shrugged slowly. "Okay."

As they both got in, Dean turned back to the car, noticing the girl was turning the key but the engine wasn't catching. He then glanced back at where he had seen someone running... the image of the woman running burned through his mind and he felt a chill fall down his spine... His gut was telling him that he had seen her. But how many times had he thought he'd seen her?

Dean clenched his jaw painfully. Screw that Zachariah douchebag for screwing with his head like this.

Moving quickly, Dean grabbed the rest of the bags, throwing them into the bed of the truck before pushing the cart off into the parking lot. He didn't bother to watch and see if it caught anywhere, didn't bother to see if it didn't stop to hit another car or a person. He didn't give two craps.

Climbing into the cab, Dean's eyes were fastened to the sidewalk where he'd seen her running. His fingers burned slightly from the gun touching his fingertips as he turned the key, the truck coming to life. He heard Ben chattering in the backseat, Lisa responding as Dean slowly put the truck into gear.

He was losing his goddamn mind.

* * *

"You know what I like about witches?"

She licked her lips slowly, her eyes closed as she concentrated on stitching her wounds back together. What was normally a simple endeavor was quickly sapping all of her energy as she chanted inside her head. Of course, being strapped to a wall with iron chains for nine hours had that effect. She didn't respond to the question.

"They're human," her captor continued, her voice rough and bleak, pacing in front of the wall where she was laid up. "They hurt. They suffer... They bleed."

Amanda Churnise gagged as the hunter slipped her knife slowly into her gut, turning it ever so slightly, enough to make Amanda want to scream bloody murder as the metal inside her stomach entangled with her organs. To beg. Beg her to stop.

There was another thing about this witch that this woman knew. It took a long time to kill her. And apparently she had the time to ensure it happened.

"I-I don't-"

"Know." Her captor's face was blank and pale when Amanda's eyes fluttered open in agony. The long, jagged scar across her face made her look deranged. "I got that."

"Please..."

"Nope, you already tried that."

"I tried to find her, I swear. She's-she's not... in this realm. I tried."

"Try harder," the woman before her snapped, pulling the knife out of her gut swiftly. Amanda let out a small cry before clamping her mouth shut. She swallowed painfully, the continual chant in her mind not stopping. She could already feel her tissues mending inside her, the pain ebbing slightly but not enough to get rid of the cloud in her mind. She was losing a lot of blood. Too rapidly. "You know someone who can figure this out."

"Please-"

"You know," she mused. "Whoever invented that word probably had an idea that it would be used a lot when it comes to torture. I've been around the block, met quite a few people, heard that word many times... It only works if you have an answer for me."

"Please," Amanda whispered without thought, the pain coming back in sharp increments as her chant wavered.

"Wrong answer."

Buffy Summers cocked her head, staring at the witch on the wall. Her limbs were spread out, her wrists and ankles shackled to hold her up. The chains were special, laced with a few hex bags, a few tricks she'd picked up. Perfect for containing a witch.

Another thing she liked about witches: they didn't trust each other.

It looked painful. It looked uncomfortable. Buffy felt something inside her churning darkly as she raised her bloody knife, staring at it without expression.

"I've always wondered if there was a black market for witch blood." Buffy's eyes ticked back to her captive. "Guess today's my lucky day."

Amanda screamed.

* * *

Thoughts, intrigues, questions, concerns...? Feedback appreciated! Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize for the not-so-quick update! What with the holiday last week (for those that celebrate Turkey Day, I hope you got mucho pie! That is what that day is for right...?) and my boss's daughter's ginormous wedding, I had to interact with people instead of doing what I prefer.

Thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews and favorites! Really, I can't explain how much reviews mean to me and how much it means to hear what you guys think, it makes me write faster (seriously, I write scenes at work - it's a sickness). And on that note, I'm trying a new technique with updating this story: I'm writing a few chapters before I post anything to make sure everything stays linear. I'm also reserving the right to go back and make slight changes/additions as I continue but nothing major will change.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_He ran through the small, abandoned area, the brick on the buildings crumbling, looking old and grey against the lackluster sky as he ran at full speed, his shotgun feeling slippery in his fingers, a cold sweat sticking to his skin. The air was chilly and foggy, making him feel like he was suffocating, like he couldn't get oxygen as he pushed air harshly through his nostrils._

_But he didn't care. He had to get there._

_That stupid, stupid fucking woman. Always doing something rash, something so goddamn stupid, he was willing to bet she got a kick out of it or something. Did all of it just because it made him feel like his intestines were braiding together with worry. He was pretty sure he was on his third ulcer, all with the name 'Buffy' stamped on them._

_If anything happened to her... to Sam..._

_He was going to tie her down in his trunk, put a leash on her so every time they disagreed about anything she thought she was right about, she didn't disappear like this..._

_Dean rounded the corner, his chest burning, his legs aching from running before he skidded to a stop, his body slowly filling with horror as the scene registered._

_Dean blinked._

_A couple hundred feet before him, Buffy hung from a balcony, a thin, rough rope wrapped tightly around her neck multiple times, forming a blocky hold on her. She swayed slightly in the air; she was limp, her head twisted at the wrong angle, her eyes closed..._

_Dean choked on the air he tried to suck in but he didn't even comprehend it as he watched her. He felt his entire world falling around him, piece by piece, as he fought to make sense of what he was seeing... his mind scattered to the winds as he stared at her, at her lifeless body where it hung. He couldn't think, he couldn't move..._

_Buffy was dead._

"_No," he whispered, his body shaking as he took a few steps forward. Like tunnel vision, he didn't see anything but Buffy swinging from the rope, just... there, lifeless... and he felt something hot and stinging on his face as he took a few more steps, his feet suddenly very heavy, his gun forgotten, falling to the ground with a loud clunk. "No, no, no..."_

_She didn't move._

"_Buffy!" he shouted, his voice not working as a single tear streamed down his face, creating an unnatural pressure in his throat. "No!"_

_And then he was running, towards her, the world shaking around him as he stared at her, quickly approaching and she still didn't move._

_She didn't respond. She didn't get up like she was just lying on the couch, taking a nap. Didn't look at him with so much annoyance she looked ready to poke him in the eye. Didn't tell him to fuck off when he knew he had pissed her off..._

_Because she was gone._

"_Buffy!" Dean shouted, his voice short, almost reaching her..._

_They weren't alone._

_Sam suddenly appeared right next to her and Dean stopped abruptly, breathing heavily, painfully, and he tripped over his feet, falling to his knees as he watched Sam reach up, snapping his fingers. Just like that, the rope was gone and Buffy's body fell into Sam's arms._

"_Oh god," Dean whispered brokenly, his mind quickly jumping. That wasn't Sam. He knew that wasn't Sam. He knew it in his gut, his entire body reacting to the sensation as he stared at his brother's shell._

_It had happened... he'd let it happen. He'd let his brother die... And now Buffy..._

"_No."_

_Sam - no, not Sam, Lucifer - looked up at him, his face twisted in what he probably thought was compassion as he laid Buffy down on the ground gently, her head lolling limply to the side. Dean couldn't move as he watched the scene unfold, couldn't even remember that he knew he had the power to move, as he watched Sam's fingers touch Buffy's temple._

_Dean sucked in a deep, agonizing breath as he watched, watched Lucifer - in his brother's body - touching Buffy, touching her pale, ashen face, her hollow looking eyes... His brother's calm, uneven face. Not his brother. No more Sam..._

_Sam was gone._

"_Damn it," Dean moaned, another tear leaking from his eye, feeling everything that the last three years had been leading to building inside him. This wasn't supposed to happen, damn it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to stay apart, stay away from each other, prevent the goddamn Apocalypse... but Sam had said it. He'd said yes._

_And Buffy had had to die to make it happen. Buffy had died, his Buffy had fucking died... and now he'd lost Sammy..._

_Dean felt everything inside him snapping - everything he'd kept down, kept tucked away, knowing... hoping... that they had been doing the right thing, that they had made the right choice by staying away from each other - as Sam stood, staring down at her when Buffy suddenly came back to life, gasping for air, her eyes shooting open. Dean felt like someone was shredding his innards as he sucked in a wet breath, watching them, the shock numbing him. Sam's eyes stared down at Buffy and she met his gaze fearfully. He nodded to her before looking at Dean._

"_A promise is a promise," he said serenely. "I'm not a monster."_

_Then he was gone, in the blink of an eye, the sound of wings filling the area for a second before silence rained down._

"_Oh no... no, no, no," Dean whispered painfully, his voice catching as more tears fell, the moment sinking in. Sam was gone. Sam was gone, he was gone... Dean let out a tiny noise, strangled as he slumped down, feeling more tears cascading, his eyes hot and burning. He looked up as Buffy stood, touching her neck, staring at him with an unreadable look._

_He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit her and then hit Sam. He wanted to be happy she was alive... happy that he'd only had to see her gone for just a second and now she was back... but at what cost?_

_At what fucking cost..._

_Dean shook his head as she approached, whispering his brother's name agonizingly before hers. She leaned down, her face crumpled, her own tears falling as she touched his cheek with trembling fingers._

"_Oh Dean," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."_

"_Damn it," he choked out, holding his face as Buffy pulled him into her arms and Dean collapsed against her, pressing his face against her breast as he let out another sob, Buffy holding him as close as she could, whispering over and over that she was sorry as he shook against her..._

"Sammy..."

_Month Seven_

"No..."

Dean woke with a gasp, sitting up straight in bed, breathing heavily. The bedroom was still dark and it was damn cold in there. He looked around, swallowing, his throat dry. He let out a broken breath as he replayed the memory, his stomach clenching with agony: Buffy hanging from the building, dead. Sam, no longer Sammy. Lucifer... the anger he knew that quickly followed when he put two and two together that Sam had only said yes because fucking Buffy was there. Because Lucifer had used her as leverage to get Sam's meat suit and Sam had agreed, because he knew how much Buffy meant to his brother...

Dean rubbed his face, immediately pulling his hands back when he felt the wetness. Frowning, Dean rubbed the salty liquid away before swinging the comforter back.

"Dean, what is it?" Lisa asked from the other side of the bed. Dean felt her hand on his bare back and he shrugged it off.

"Nothing," he said gruffly, forcefully swallowing to moisten his throat. He wiped his face off, feeling Lisa sit up behind him. "I'm fine."

"Dean, you were crying-"

"I said I was fine, Lisa," Dean snapped, barely glancing at her over his shoulder before leaning down, grabbing his shirt off the floor. He shrugged it on, straightening it as it twisted around his back. He didn't get up for a moment and a heavy silence fell on the room as the images flickered in his mind, bouncing against his skull with a vengeful pressure. His voice cracked when he spoke. "I'm gonna go downstairs... for a bit."

"Okay," Lisa said softly behind him, her voice deceivingly neutral. He got out of the bed, moving awkwardly, feeling Lisa's eyes drilling into his back as he left the room, leaving her alone in their bed.

* * *

Buffy's boots echoed in the large abandoned warehouse as she walked slowly through the space. She studied her surroundings, her eyes catching everything, her head moving around mechanically.

She'd missed the show on this one.

Running her finger across the edge of a rusty metal workbench, she pulled it back and stared at the dust before looking at the mark she'd left behind. An easy deception, something an amateur would assume.

These charmers didn't need the entire space. They only preferred the seclusion and only needed a few ropes, some needles and then they were in business.

Looking around once more, she shrugged before glancing up at the ceiling. Buffy paused, cocking an eyebrow. Three large cables hung from the vaulted ceiling of the warehouse, dangling down just far enough for someone to reach up and snag them. Large loops were tied together at the end, enough to use them as anchors for something much heavier than a few boxes.

Buffy didn't bother trying to test that theory. Instead, she made her way back outside.

It was spring but Buffy could still see her breath when she slid the warehouse door open, not bothering to close it. She wouldn't be back, nobody would care. If the cops happened on this warehouse, they wouldn't find anything worthwhile. It was getting smarter, catching on.

Pulling her jacket in closer around her shoulders, ignoring the itch, Buffy grabbed the helmet off her seat where she'd left it, slipping it on unceremoniously before straddling her bike, ripping it to life.

She was getting close. She could feel it.

With a large burst of sound, she slipped the bike into gear, taking off violently, leaving behind a spray of gravel and a large cloud of dust as she headed back towards the road, leaving the large warehouse to its seclusion.

* * *

_Month Eight_

"Jeez, you look like crap."

"Wow, thanks, Sid," Dean replied, sliding into the barstool next to his friend at their bar. He felt like crap and now he looked like crap. Although he didn't need either a mirror or someone telling him this, he could only imagine the pale skin, the circles under his eyes and the glare he shot every single person who even looked at him.

He smiled at the bartender, Karen, when she sidled up next to them. "Scotch, double, neat."

"Comin' up," she said with a smile and a little wink. Dean just smiled tightly in return. He wasn't in the mood to play into Karen's little flirts tonight. He just wanted to get some goddamn alcohol to scrub his brain with like a normal, warm-blooded person who hadn't slept a decent night in well over a month.

Dean glanced at Sid who was staring at him. "No, seriously, I don't think liquor is your friend tonight, man."

"Yeah, well," Dean said warily, rubbing his face as the lady behind the bar set the tumbler on a napkin before him. He shot her a half-assed smile to which she smirked before grabbing the cup. He tilted it to Sid. "You know what they say." He slammed the drink before waving at Karen again.

"No, what do they say?"

Dean opened his mouth but nothing came out. He shrugged, putting his hand on the filled glass when she set it before him again and shot Sid a smirk. "I don't know, man, whatever they say about alcohol."

"Okay, whoa, let's take a step back here," Sid said, putting his hands up and Dean just stared at him. He felt a deeper exhaustion settling in his bones than he remembered feeling for a long time. What he would do to sleep for five fucking minutes without seeing his face, her face...

Every single damn time he closed his eyes, he was seeing either Sam or Buffy. The first time he hadn't dreamt about Sam was well over a month ago, the first time he had gotten some relief only it was replaced with memories of Buffy... of the five years that never were. And now they took turns, pulling up certain Fun Sam and Buffy Facts and slapping his brain with them whenever he drifted off. It was driving him up the fucking wall. None of it was helped that he was starting to feel a weird sense of resentment towards Buffy as her dreams became more and more frequent... because it meant he wasn't seeing Sam even though he had prayed for that relief for months...

He just wanted darkness. Oblivion. Some damn peace.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Dean shook his head, rubbing his face once more, his eyelids feeling heavy and scratchy and he fought the urge to lay his head down on the bar. He still had to drive home, damn it. "Man, I can't even..."

Sid angled his head, trying to catch Dean's eye but Dean just focused his gaze on the amber liquid. "Wow. Are you toasted already?"

"What?" Dean asked, giving him an annoyed look. "No. No, I just had a bit of a... rough night, that's all."

Sid held out his hands in the universal 'spit-it-out' gesture and Dean just looked at him. Sid shrugged. "Come on."

"Oh, no," Dean drawled and Sid interrupted him, "How many months have we been coming here and how often have you not said a word about anything going on inside that freaky head of yours?"

Dean frowned at his choice of words, shooting him a look before taking all his scotch down in one gulp again. He once again motioned to Karen as a memory of talking to Sam filtered through his mind... Amazing how a few words could bring up the most vivid memories. Hell, amazing how a few thoughts could bring up the most vivid dreams.

Dean shrugged. "It's nothing."

Sid snorted and Dean turned to him again, a small smirk on his face. The strange thing was he wanted to talk. He needed to talk about it. It wasn't just a need to get Sid off his back, he really needed to talk to someone and make sure he wasn't going bat shit crazy on accident. He couldn't believe that he was just seeing things; he knew there was a reason that the only thing he could dream about was suddenly Buffy-related.

But then again, maybe this was just the inevitable happening - he didn't have Sam here, he didn't have the hunt, he didn't have anything but these memories, constantly pushing at him, pressing in.

He couldn't believe how much his mind was opening like a broken dam inside his broken head, letting loose all sorts of things he thought he had put away forever. At first, seeing a few things wasn't so bad. Now, after the last month of sleepless rest, he was starting to get a little pissed off. How much could one man freaking take? Take his girl, take his brother and then spend months torturing him with it... God, how he wished he could stick it to Zachariah one more time.

He was pretty sure it was a combination of the lackluster sleep with too many dreams and his third double of scotch in a matter of a few minutes but he sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly with the palm of his hand. "I don't know, I haven't been sleeping… too well. And I've just been... seeing things lately."

Sid raised an eyebrow and Dean cut him to the quick. "Not things. A person, a someone. Someone I used to know... a long time ago."

"So I take it this means an old girlfriend?" Sid asked. Dean chuckled dryly, shrugging as he sipped from his glass.

"I guess you could call her that. It's... complicated," he breathed staring at the mirror behind the bar. He completely avoided his reflection; he had no desire to see the road kill his face was, instead scanning the other occupants.

"So that's what all your weird behavior's been about?" Sid asked, motioning to Karen for another beer as he looked at Dean. Dean just looked at him and Sid shrugged. "A guy's bound to notice things. What, did you run into her or something? See her somewhere?" Dean shot him a tired glance and Sid slapped his shoulder. "Come on, man, we've all been there."

Dean couldn't help the amused smile as he finished his third glass. Oh, if only he knew...

"So tell me about her," Sid continued. He watched Dean expectantly as Dean motioned to Karen for one more. "And hold up on those scotches, man, or I'll have to be the one driving you home and delivering you to Lisa." He caught the slight grimace on Dean's face and he leaned towards him. "Oh, tell me Lisa doesn't know about your girl."

Dean shook his head. "No. I've just been... off. I haven't been sleeping." He touched his forehead for the universal sign of 'I'm fucked in the head.'

Sid snorted, gesturing to Dean's face. "Understatement, my friend, understatement."

"Thanks."

"You know," Sid mused. "If I didn't know any better, I would say we're having an actual conversation. A real conversation. About things. About people in your life." He slapped Dean's back. "This is good!"

The sound bites coming from the television stopped the grin Dean was about to shoot Sid's way and he turned to glance at the tiny TV behind the bar where Karen stood watching. It was a newscast talking about some recent dead bodies showing up in the next town over. Dean frowned at it, leaning forward and ignoring Sid as he said, "Hey, Kay, turn that up."

Karen glanced over her shoulder at him before turning up the small TV. The news reporter's serious voice echoed in the bar and Dean stared at her visage where she stood in front of a large white-washed wall, blue and red lights dancing on it behind her.

"Tonight marks the second warehouse to be found housing three or more dead bodies. Police have yet to release the identities of the victims or the circumstances surrounding their deaths but they have confirmed that all victims involved in the Warehouse Murders were young females, averaging in their early 20s. It all started when, just last week, police received an anonymous tip from a Good Samaritan reporting the first three bodies in Stillwater. Police believe these two incidents may have a connection despite the locale change. They will release more information as it becomes available." The reporter glanced at her notepad. "Police have officially issued a warning to all surrounding towns to be cautious and vigilant as the investigation continues. They are urging people to by aware of their surroundings and to call police with any suspicious activity. Unfortunately, at this time, that is all the information being released but when we get it, so will you. Reporting live from Bloomington, this is Clarissa Vanza with KARE 11. Back to you."

"Gruesome," Sid said next to him but Dean didn't respond. Karen's slim, tattooed wrist reached out to turn the volume back down as the anchors came back to the screen and Dean sat back. Karen came over to refill his glass, an eyebrow raised at him to ask if he wanted another but Dean didn't notice, his mind churning. She poured anyway.

"Thanks, Kay," he said absently, sitting up, holding his glass as he furrowed his brow, mulling over the newscast. Warehouse. Dead bodies. He felt like he should be concerned about it. Like that little tickle he usually got in the back of his head should be alerting him. He felt like it was pushing through a puffy hallway of cotton inside his mind as he tried to connect his thoughts together... It was entirely possible that this was not so much a supernatural issue as much as a crazy hobo walking around kidnapping young women.

Classy.

"Dean."

"Huh," Dean grunted, his mind relaxing.

"You're starin' at Kay's ass, dude, you're gonna make that girl think you're interested," Sid continued, chuckling and Dean shook himself from his reverie. He blushed when he saw Karen throw him a grin and Dean frowned... but not before noticing the beginnings of an intricate tattoo on her lower back when she leaned over to grab a dishrag. Sid slapped his shoulder. "Okay, if you aren't toasted yet, you doin' drugs? Crack? Cocaine? Come on, what're you hiding in there?"

"What?" Dean asked quizzically, turning to look back at Sid who made a face at him.

"You sure it's just a lack of sleep bogging you down there, buddy?" Sid asked and Dean shook his head, rubbing his face.

"Yeah. Something like that." Dean threw back his drink, his eyes finding the TV screen once more, the volume down, a commercial advertising deodorant. He felt something ominous but it wasn't anything he felt like he needed to jump into action with... Like he should know something but he couldn't reach it. Dean fought an urge to yawn; one thing he did know was that he should probably get going before he was too toasted to drive and he did have to explain too much to Lisa.

Karen came back, leaning on the bar as she grabbed his glass, her fingers brushing along his arm, ready to pour him another. Dean jerked at the sensation before covering his glass, shaking his head. "No, I'm good."

"Okay," Karen replied, turning back to the television, setting the bottle down noisily. Dean stood, ignoring how the world around him wiggled just a little bit and he pushed the stool in. He fished in his pocket for his wallet, seeing Sid turn towards him as he pulled out a few bills and tossed them next to his empty glass.

Sid sighed, rolling his eyes. "I get one bit of information out of you and then poof, you're gone."

Dean smiled apologetically. "It's not that, man, I just... forgot there's a few things I need to do before heading home."

"And dead bodies remind you of things you need to do?" Sid asked, his tone joking and he let out a laugh. Dean gave him an uneasy smile before nodding.

"Yeah, I know. I'm weird." Dean waved his hand at him. "I'm out."

"Your entire world is becoming an understatement, my friend," Sid said loudly to Dean's back as Dean exited the bar with a wave over his shoulder. The cool night air touched his face and Dean breathed with relief, feeling better now that he was breathing fresh air. He frowned, turning to look back at the closed door before shaking his head. Definitely a combination of no sleep, too much scotch, Sid rattling it off in his ear and Kay's tattoos that he had never bothered to notice before... Maybe he'd try those sleeping pills he knew Lisa kept somewhere in the house tonight.

Get some goddamn sleep.

Or maybe just resort to his good old fashioned tactics and slam his own scotch at home and welcome some well-needed oblivion.

Dean made his way towards his truck, staring at the ground, his hands shoved in his pocket when a loud slap of metal echoed in the night. Dean paused before turning to look over his shoulder at the large abandoned building next to the bar, the building standing tall over the small hole he had just left.

Sliding his keys into the lock of the driver side door, Dean turned it just as another loud slap of metal echoed out into the night, coming once again from the building. Dean stopped, staring at it over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. He could feel the tug of sleep pushing at the frayed edges of his mind but that was too distinct a sound to be coming from anything other than a human being.

No harm taking a little looksee.

Unlocking his door, Dean felt a familiar rush of adrenaline soar through him as he leaned forward, grabbing the gun he kept under the seat. Pulling it out, he kept it low as he clicked the safety off, checking the clip quickly before slipping it into the band of his pants at the small of his back. Glancing around the street, he checked to make sure Sid hadn't followed him out before making his way towards the building.

A flash of white caught his eye and Dean stopped, staring at the spot he had just seen it but there was nothing. Just like before. Just like always. Frowning, Dean rubbed his eyes, refocusing them but there was still nothing.

"Christ, Dean," he breathed, shaking his head. What the hell was he doing? What in the hell did he think he was going to do when he got in there and found out it was nothing more than a goddamn raccoon or something? Shoot that little black-eyed sucker? Since when was he the pest control?

Still standing in the middle of the quiet street, Dean wasn't sure what he wanted to do when he saw her.

Dean felt like someone had sucker punched him all over again. He felt hollow as he watched her move around, glancing up at the building wearing those same Army fatigue pants, that same gun holster... He knew with every instinctual nerve in his body that he was looking at Buffy Summers as he watched her lithe body dart around a few pieces of debris inside the fence surrounding the perimeter of the building. He couldn't breathe as she paused at the door leading in, trying the doorknob, finding it locked and looking around once more.

Dean couldn't move as she picked up a large piece of scrap metal and slammed it into the doorknob a few times, the large angry clanging sound echoing in the street and in Dean's head but he still didn't move as the knob finally gave way, the door popping open. With a shrug, he watched her toss the metal over her shoulder before going in.

"Buffy?" he said softly, shaking his head. The door was still open. The metal was still where she had thrown it. He wasn't seeing things. He was seeing this. He was seeing... her. "Buffy."

Dean didn't realize he was moving until he found himself at the fence and he climbed it easily, pulling himself over and landing with a heavy grunt. And then there was no more pausing, there was no more waiting... He ran for the door, ripping it open.

"Buffy?" he said loudly, looking around, seeing nothing for a moment but the dust particles dancing in the moonlight from outside. "Hello?"

No response.

Nothing.

Again.

Dean knew the minute he stepped a few more feet into the building that he wasn't going to find crap. Including her.

He stared at the floor for a moment, his eyes trying to focus on what he was seeing before looking behind him. The concrete was coated in dust and his were the only footprints.

That damn dark, black hole in his chest started sinking in a little. Closing his eyes, Dean felt a frantic need to ram his fist into the wall as he remembered what he had just seen not just a minute ago. It had been her. He was sure of it...

When he opened his eyes, he knew he hadn't.

He frowned at the mess inside, glancing inside each room as he made his way around slowly. The reassuring press of his gun against his bare skin felt good and he allowed himself to slow down, picking through some of the furniture before heading to the next floor.

He knew he wasn't going to find her. But he knew he had to make sure too. Because he knew what he had seen… he had seen her. It was Buffy.

But it wasn't.

The walls were covered in faded graffiti, old posters advertising book clubs and places for people to sign up for classes. Dean entered the first room he reached on the third floor, edging it open slowly. He grimaced at the paper-covered floor, frowning as he looked around. The shadows were deeper here, farther away from the streetlight, when he saw a slight movement in the far corner.

Dean cocked his head, taking a silent step forward.

"Buffy?" Dean asked without thinking, his voice croaking and he felt foolish as all hell when it came out. He gritted his jaw as that black hole flared, reaching out further.

He was losing his goddamn mind. Literally.

The corner shifted a little more and he reached back to make sure his gun was still there, his fingers itching to hold it when something moved. Dean stopped for a moment before stepping forward, reaching out to touch it.

The lump suddenly jumped up, a loud shriek coming from its lips as it whirled around. A man's shaggy head popped up out of the sodden blanket and Dean jumped back, his heart rate turning into a slamming gallop as his foot caught the corner of something heavy but he caught himself before he fell back.

"Whoa there, buddy," Dean said, his voice shaky, holding his hands up. "It's all good."

"Wh'fck'r'you?"

"What? Nobody. Nothing. Just... thought..." What exactly had he thought? That Buffy was sitting in the corner, sucking on her hair, waiting for him to come find her? That he was the one probably sitting in this room and he was just gallivanting in his mind like a goddamn insane person? Dean rolled his eyes. "Just heard something, that's all."

"You hear something?" the guy replied, his voice rough and accusing, taking a step forward and Dean reciprocated in the opposite direction, his hands still up.

"You know what, my bad, dude," Dean said, offering a placating smile. He pointed at the door behind him. "I'll just... go."

Backing out of the room, Dean kept his eyes glued on the homeless man before him. Dean left, feeling irrational as he pulled the door to the bottom level of the building closed behind him. He glanced up at the building before looking around. He frowned, noticing that piece of metal he had seen her use was gone. He turned back and checked the door, swinging it open for a minute. The lock had long ago rusted off and the door barely shut anymore.

"Real smooth there, Dean," he said to himself. "Let's get raped by the local Homeless Men Society to cap off the best year ever."

Squeezing through the hole in the barb-wire fence, Dean made his way to his truck. Opening the door, he slipped out his gun, stared at it for a moment before leaning over and putting it back in its holster. He didn't see the slight shadow on the other side of the building, watching him get in, turning the truck on before driving away slowly.

* * *

"_Get that thing away from me."_

"_If you would just hold still for five seconds, it would be over and you could stop your goddamn bitching."_

"_I already said no, so knock it off."_

"_Jesus Christ! I just want one picture of you!"_

"_You said that thirty pictures ago!"_

"_Gee, I wonder why. Maybe it's because you're making a stupid face or you're blurring yourself on purpose just to piss me off."_

"_Oh, yeah, that's why." He rolled his eyes at her and he looked over to see her glowering at him before tossing the camera into the backseat and then flipping him off. "Geez, Summers, don't get your panties all bunched up."_

"_Don't be such a jerk, Winchester," she replied, purposefully using his last name as he did hers and Dean smirked at her. Buffy just glared at him before crossing her arms and turning to look out the passenger window. The lush forest rushed past them as Dean pushed seventy on the small highway. He watched the wind blowing out her hair, so much longer than when they had first met. It was tied back in a loose braid but she never caught all the strands. And they were always tangled to hell when they finally stopped but she didn't care. And he liked that she didn't care. He liked her smooth, tangled, messy and clean. He didn't care._

"_Buffy."_

"_No, Dean, just drive. Just drive your stupid, big car to the stupid town so we can pull over so I can properly kick your stupid ass."_

"_You know my ass is all yours. Why wait?" he said smartly and Buffy gave him a not so patient look and he chuckled before slowing the car down, pulling it off to the side. Buffy didn't move, her arms still crossed, her body rocking with the car when Dean hit the brakes too hard. Just like he always did, like a big oaf. She didn't move when he reached into the backseat to grab the camera she had tossed back there and she ignored him when he tapped her on the shoulder with it. "Alright, come on."_

"_No," she said stubbornly, her eyes fixed on a tree next to where they had pulled off the road._

"_Buffy..."_

"_Screw off, Dean."_

"_Come on, look at me."_

"_Come on, eat me."_

"_Oh, don't tease me, baby," he said and Buffy whipped around, her arm out to smack him in the chest when a bright flash went off in her face. She gaped at him before growling and reaching out for the camera but he held it away from her, laughing._

"_God, you're such a dick," she snapped but there was no anger, no annoyance in her voice. He knew his girl better than she really thought as she crawled on top of him to reach the camera in his left hand which he now held out the driver side window. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her securely in place. She tried to push away from him but he didn't let her. She glared at him and he smirked before pressing his lips to hers. She grumbled against his before pulling away, a faux look of consternation fixed on her features before he tickled her. She let out a loud shriek, batting at his shoulders and he laughed with her._

_It felt good. It felt amazing. It felt right. It felt warm and comfortable and delicious. Everything he wanted and loved and needed was right here in his arms and he was constantly amazed at what each day brought him. Even after all the crap, all the hell, this last year and a half had been what someone who talked in girly poetic format would call perfection. She had gotten him through one of the darkest periods of his life and still stuck around. Buffy finally cracked a smile as she hovered over him, readjusting herself so her chest was pressed against his and he licked his lips._

"_What'd you turn me into, Summers?" he said softly and she smirked down at him, the scar rising up against her cheek. He pulled his arm inside, dropping the camera somewhere on the floor. He brought his hand up, tracing the scar before touching her lips, his thumb running across her bottom one and she opened her mouth slightly. He felt her hot breath on his skin and she just stared down at him for a moment, the heat evident in her eyes, before kissing him._

_The kiss was long, languid, hot and sticky, her skin slick from the overwhelming humidity outside, slick against his, and he wanted more, pulling her tighter against his body. She responded in kind, rubbing herself against him as much as she could before she abruptly broke the kiss off and suddenly she was gone from his arms. He made a tiny sound in his throat at the loss of contact and he moved to grab her and pull her back up but she was too quick._

_Buffy wiggled her way down his lap and he let out a broken breath as her hands, arms and shoulders rubbed everything and anything in between him and his feet before he realized what she was doing and suddenly she was back up, out of his lap and sitting next to him, her head pressed against his chest, the camera angled at them. He could see the huge smile on her face, her cheek pressed against him, as she stared into the camera and he couldn't hold back his own as she said, "Say cheese..."_

"Dean..."

Dean grunted, rolling his shoulder to get rid of the warm hand that was shaking him awake as the memory faded from his mind. He felt like he had a spool of cotton turning inside his head as the hand shook him again.

"What?" he groaned, squinting open an eye to glare at whoever was waking him. The living room was pitch black, the only light coming from the upstairs hallway, barely lighting Lisa where she leaned over him on the recliner. Dean blinked himself awake, shaking the fuzziness away as he shifted on the chair. He grimaced when he felt his back protest painfully from sleeping sitting up. Stupid chair. "Hey. Sorry."

"It's okay," Lisa replied. She smiled down at him, her face unsure. "You were dreaming again."

"What?" he replied absently, rubbing his eyes as he tried to reorient himself before her words finally penetrated his mind. "What, I was dreaming?"

Lisa nodded. "Yeah. You were talking about going to Buffy." Dean's heart seized at the sound of her name on Lisa's lips and he stared at her, his mouth gaped, frozen. "What's Buffy?"

"Nothing," Dean said instantly, pulling himself to his feet. He maneuvered around her, making a show of stretching his arms as he fought the insane urge to tell her to never say that name again. "Uh, nothing. What time is it?"

"About 11 o'clock."

"Oh, man, I fell asleep," Dean said, his voice rough. "I'll, uh… I'll be up in a sec."

"Dean, are you okay?" Lisa asked, trying to catch his eye as he turned away from her. He headed towards the main picture window in the living room, making sure it was locked. "You're just getting kinda... I don't know... antsy."

Dean could hear what she really wanted to say: "You're getting really weird and it's freaking me out because you're hiding it from me and I'm afraid you're going to put our lives in danger."

"What? No, no, I'm fine. Just... not sleeping enough, I guess." That was a crock. He was sleeping plenty. He glanced at Lisa. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Lisa replied, putting her hands up in surrender. She watched Dean make his rounds through the windows before moving towards the backdoor. She just watched him in the dark, the way his body tightened every time he looked out the window, almost like he was prepared for something to come flying through the glass. How his hands shook slightly when he didn't have anything to do for the night, when all that was left was to go upstairs and sleep. The way he stopped and stared absently for a moment, lost inside his mind, before coming back, less and less each time. Every time she looked into his eyes, there was less of him there... "I'm always here if you want to talk. You know that, right?"

Dean shot her a half smile over his shoulder. "Yeah."

Lisa nodded slowly. She headed towards the stairs, Dean following behind her. He checked the front door and was about to head towards the kitchen when Lisa's hand shot out, grabbing his arm, pulling him close. She stared up at him and Dean's chest tightened a little. He looked away and she touched his cheek softly.

"You coming to bed?"

Dean nodded, smiling tightly at her. "Yeah… I'll be up in a minute."

Lisa smiled, holding his cheek when he tried to move away, standing on her toes to reach his lips. She kissed him softly, inhaling his scent. He smelled like scotch and wood chips from work. A slight trace of his cologne was still present, the cologne she'd gotten him for Christmas. Simple, gentle. He smelled like Dean.

For a moment, the kiss stayed easy, gentle and then Dean responded, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against his chest as the kiss deepened. Lisa breathed a sigh of relief against him, opening herself to him as he kissed her, a pool of warmth coming to life in the pit of her stomach before he suddenly broke it, pulling away. Lisa stared at him when he stepped back, giving her an uneasy smile and her throat tightened when he stared at the wall instead of looking at her.

"I'll be up in a minute," he said before heading into the kitchen.

* * *

Buffy stood across the street from the large, open house.

She stood in the shadow next to the streetlight, watching his progress into the kitchen where he turned on the light. She could see through the large window parallel to the front door the woman standing, her arms crossed before turning and heading back up the stairs.

Buffy's eyes ticked back to the kitchen, watching him through the partially closed blinds as he grabbed a glass and pulled down a large glass bottle of amber liquid from on top of the fridge. Shifting her shoulders in her jacket, Buffy watched him pour a glass but he didn't drink it. Instead, he stared at the table and she imagined this was the point she should feel bad for him. Feel bad that he was one of them now and apparently it wasn't all candy canes and popcorn.

"Dean Winchester," she mused softly.

A long moment passed by when he finally drank what he had poured before moving to check the locks on the window she was currently staring through.

Buffy chuckled. "What are the fucking odds?"

She smirked at him as he stared outside for a minute before shutting the blinds.

* * *

Thoughts, intrigues, questions, concerns...? Feedback appreciated! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Month Nine_

Another warehouse. Another cold lead followed by another dead end. Buffy scowled at the dank space, flipping open her phone and hitting redial.

"What?"

"You got anything for me?" she asked, kicking over an empty crate.

She heard a deep annoyed sigh on the other side. "Nothin' but the same crap I told you last time." Silence. "Buffy, these things don't just up and change their habits without a good damn reason." She still didn't respond, staring a hole into the floor as she once more followed her prey's pattern in her head. "There's a reason it's circling… like I said."

"Right."

She heard a book slam shut from his side and his chair shoving back. "I don't know what else to tell ya, kid."

"I've been following this thing for weeks now and I've got nothing on it so far… It's here. I know it."

"Then start thinkin' outside the box," he replied and Buffy rolled her eyes, chewing on the tip of her tongue as she once again hit a dead end in her mind.

"Whatever. I'll start over." She took a deep breath. "I know I don't have to-"

"You don't, so stop sayin' it," he said, cutting her off. "None of my business. Besides, he's ain't being so forthcoming himself."

"Right. Thanks," she said before snapping the phone shut, not bothering to wait for his response.

Piercing her lips, Buffy looked around before glancing up where a set of hooks were hanging from the short ceiling. Gritting her teeth, Buffy glared at them, thinking about the people that had been there, the innocent idiots who let themselves get caught and slowly killed like the sheep they were…

With a snarl, she grabbed a crate from the floor and flung it against the wall where it shattered into multiple pieces.

* * *

_Dean woke with a start, his eyes popping open. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, couldn't remember laying down there much less falling asleep and then he recognized the cracking wood of Bobby's ceiling, the large picture window covered in dirt and old sigils letting murky moonlight spill on him. He sat up, staring at the familiar stacks of books all over the living room, Bobby's desk in front of his ill-used fireplace littered with pages, a few open tombs and three empty, smudged glasses._

_Throwing the shabby throw off of him, he swung his legs off the couch, rubbing the back of his neck before checking to see if she was still in the room._

_Dean smirked at her where she laid in a large recliner in the opposite corner, curled up under her jacket, a few pieces of hair falling on her cheek. She breathed deeply as he watched her, wondering how she had ended up there and not on the couch with him. Bobby had long ago disappeared into other parts of the house, around two in the morning, and Dean remembered falling asleep not long after that to the sight of Buffy at Bobby's desk, paging through a few books, researching in the soft, dim light of a reading lamp._

_Looking over his shoulder, Dean saw the sky was still dark, the sun not even peeking over the horizon and he figured he'd been out for only a few hours. Standing with a little groan, he listened to his back crack as he stretched before shuffling towards her. She didn't move as he leaned over, brushing her hair away from her face, one finger caressing her scar before he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. A few months ago, that would have earned him a punch in the junk but now she made a little sound before settling._

_Dean marveled at how easy that habit had become since she had gotten lost in the woods with that wendigo. It made him feel better, knowing she was actually sitting there, real and not just his screwed up imagination. That had been the longest damn week of his life when she had disappeared before he found the wendigo's cave and he had made sure she knew that. He made his way to the bathroom._

_A moment later, he came back out, wide awake, wondering if it was kosher to wake her ass up and christen Bobby's couch when he noticed the shadows in the room were darker… longer. Not the same as he had left it._

_Dean frowned, glancing around before turning to Buffy and he saw something shift next to her. Something that seemed to be sucking all the light in the room towards it as it hovered next to the recliner._

_His hand instinctively went to his back where he usually kept his gun before remembering he had taken it out when he'd fallen on the couch. The thing didn't even notice him and Buffy didn't react to its presence. It was the damn creature they had been researching; the thing that had gotten a snag on Buffy before they managed to get away earlier._

_Dean felt a roar of rage and fear course through his system but he forced himself to stay still as the thing's face got closer to hers. He ignored the urge to step up and pull her away and start hammering on the sucker. Instead, he stayed still, waiting for a chance…_

_Until he saw something dark and long snake out of what he assumed was its mouth and Dean lost it._

_"Buffy!" he shouted, already moving towards her, his socked feet slipping on Bobby's hardwood floors. Buffy's eyes snapped open, alert and ready and she moved without thinking, instinctually reeling her arm back and slamming her fist into the chisna's face. He reached her as the thing reared back with an ugly roar before disappearing, melting into the shadows and out of the room._

_Dean grabbed her arms as Buffy moved to follow it but he didn't let her get far, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her back._

_"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" she snapped, her voice still laced with sleep as she struggled against him but he swung her behind him._

_"Stay," he barked, pushing her back as he reached where he had left his gun. "That thing's got a goddamn hard on for you and I'm going to gank that mother before he comes near you again."_

_"Oh, please," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes. She shoved his shoulder away. "Don't pull that misogynistic crap on me."_

_"Don't be such a goddamn moron," Dean replied, holding her arm when she tried to return to the chair. "Buffy, we just got done-"_

_Dean didn't have a chance to finish as a blur of black, matted fur swept past them and slammed into Buffy. She fell to the ground with a loud whoosh of air as the thing on top of her growled. Dean was already moving, shouting her name, tackling the chisna where it hovered over her, slamming it into the couch. He groaned in disgust when he felt the cool goo that coated its fur sticking to him as the chisna wiggled away and vanished once more._

_"Damn it," he breathed, lying on his back, the crap on the chisna's fur feeling way too gross to contemplate. He felt Buffy's little hand reach out to slap his shoulder as hard as she could and he turned to glare at her._

_"What was that for, I just saved your ass," he bit out, rolling to stand and slipping as his gooey palms slid on the floor. He grunted in annoyance, watching Buffy do the same thing albeit with more grace. They found their feet and Buffy was already moving for her own gun._

_"Teamwork," Buffy replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm as she mocked his words from their last hunt. They were about six months into trying this whole 'hunting as partners who happened to have sex nine times a day' thing and it wasn't going smoothly. They both liked taking lead. It led to issues. "Let's play nice and everything will be all better."_

_"Shut up," Dean groused. "That was before you took off to play hero with that wendigo."_

_Buffy didn't bother replying, checking the clip on her gun before shoving it into the back of her pants. She leaned down and came back up with a machete. She glanced at Dean. "How much does Bobby like clean walls?"_

_Despite his annoyance and the extreme urge to reach out and rattle her senseless, Dean smirked and Buffy shot him a little smile before disappearing around a corner. And then the annoyance and fear part was back with a vengeance as Dean grabbed his gun, wiping his hands off as best he could before following her._

_"Buffy," he said softly but there was no response and Dean looked up and down the long hallway, not seeing her. He clenched his jaw to restrain himself from calling out her name. "You gotta be freaking kidding me."_

_Stepping out, Dean examined the shadows, keeping his breathing to a minimum as much as he could as he listened for that wet breathing. He didn't hear anything for a moment and he wondered how the hell Bobby was sleeping through all this ruckus - the man had to sleep like the dead. He didn't even hear Buffy and he wondered where she had gotten off to when he heard a loud slam coming from back in the kitchen and Dean broke into a sprint._

_Dean saw red when he saw the chisna pinning Buffy to the table, her machete pressed against the thing's neck but it wasn't moving away from her. She grunted loudly, struggling with it and Dean moved in behind it, reaching forward and grabbing her knife and pulling it against its neck._

_Dean let out a little whelp when the thing stood up, knocking him back. The fucker was strong but Dean was quick as the machete sliced some of its skin and with a loud howl, it was gone again. Dean scrambled to his feet, reaching down to grab the machete from the floor, checking the blade, seeing the blood with the light green tinge to it. He smirked before glancing at Buffy who was breathing heavily on the table._

_"Man, that baby likes you," he said with far too much amusement, the high from leaking some blood soaring inside. "That sweet Buffy juice-"_

_Buffy was glaring at him when her eyes widened as the chisna roared up behind him, knocking him down. Everything was a blur for a moment as Buffy shouted his name, leaping from the table to attack the chisna. Dean tried to roll to his feet but was slipping in that damn crap on its fur before he got the upper hand and then he slammed the machete into its side before pushing it away from Buffy and pinning it to the wall._

_Vaguely in the background he thought he heard Bobby saying, "What in the hell?" as the chisna roared in his face before slipping from his grasp. Dean reached out instinctively to keep the thing in place, his grip like steel as he grabbed it and flipped it over, slamming it onto the table where it had slammed Buffy but not before it slipped easily through his grasp, his maw open as he aimed for his throat…_

_"Dean, no!"_

Dean he woke with a violent start, sitting up in the recliner, his breath heavy and panicked, his eyes flying around the room. The words reverberated in his head as he quickly stood, turning in a slow circle, his body tense. The silence of the room was deafening; he couldn't see anything, the darkness in the room suffocating him and he felt a tendril of fear spike through his chest as he wondered what the hell was happening. He felt like he was moving through thick glue as he moved and he wondered where Buffy was…

He looked down at his hands, still feeling the slick goop that had been coating the chisna's fur as well as the hot sticky blood he'd drawn…

But his hands were dry.

The room was empty save for him and his heavy breathing and he furrowed his brow before roughly rubbing his face. He saw spots when he opened his eyes and they slowly adjusted to the dark living room. The TV was there, the couch… not Bobby's couch. Not Bobby's house.

"Christ," he breathed, closing his eyes. It had been so real, like he had been living it again for the first time. He saw Buffy in his mind's eye the way she had been that night - angry and frightened. The sound of her voice calling his name when the chisna had tried to take a bite out of him and her and Bobby tackling it to the ground where Buffy cut off its head… although the latter part of that night was fuzzy and unclear… faded.

And not _real_ because they had never happened…

Because 2014 Dean had never happened, because everything with Buffy had never happened and because he was losing his goddamn mind.

What in the blue hell were these dreams? Where were they coming from, why were they so goddamn vivid? He was so sure that they had really happened instead of the fantasy world Zachariah had shoved down his throat but…

"Get the fuck out," Dean growled under his breath, holding his head painfully as he sought to push the memories back. Away. They had never happened, they had never come to pass… So why did they feel so real, so potent? It felt like it was getting worse, getting harder to separate himself from them as time passed… A constant veil, a constant reminder, a constant presence…

Dean dug his palms into his temples as he tried to burn the images away but all he saw was Buffy…

All he ever fucking saw was Buffy.

Dean glowered at the floor before stalking into the kitchen. Switching the light on, he grabbed the glass he had left by the sink and the bottle of whiskey he had stashed on top of the fridge. Dropping the glass with an angry thud, he spun the top of the bottle off, making it fly away and onto the floor with a sharp twang. He poured a healthy amount in the glass, slammed the bottle down and threw back the drink. It instantly burned his gullet as he drank it without breathing before slamming the glass down.

He couldn't get rid of her, he couldn't escape her.

He had honestly never thought the day would come when he wanted nothing more than to eradicate her from his mind, just erase her from his memories. Where once upon a time, she had been a strange and calming balm, she was now turning into the bane of his existence… Over time, the memories had started to die out, go away… and now, without Sammy here to distract him, with his mind unraveling further and further every single goddamn day, she was everywhere.

Fucking. Everywhere.

Dean sloshed some of the whiskey on the counter as he poured another glass, drinking it down without censor before growling at the liquid on his fingers. He slammed the bottle on the counter again, closing his eyes in frustration as the dream washed over him.

It had been so real… he could see her, smell her, touch her. He remembered with perfect clarity the feeling of her scar under his fingertips as she slept, the heat of her forehead when he pressed his lips to her, the intimacy borne between them… and the rattling fear when that damn chisna appeared out of nowhere, the fear that he was going to lose her again, that he had just gotten her back and that he couldn't have handled that. He had lost Sam and now Buffy too…

"Damn it!" Dean snapped, slamming his palm on the counter. None of it was real! It was all in his head! But then why the hell did it all feel like it had just happened yesterday?

"Not. Fucking. Real," he mumbled to himself, pouring another glass. He absently realized with a humorless chuckle that he was missing the glass most of the time before slamming the bottle down once more. He looked down at the glass… in his mind's eye, he saw the glass he had been drinking from with Buffy and Bobby… the sense of familiarity and belonging and comfort and everything else that was foreign and wrong in his life at that moment.

None of it had been his - it had all belonged to 2014 Dean - and yet here he was, remembering it like it had happened to him. _Dreaming_ it, like it had happened to him. Dean scowled at the glass, at the amber liquid staring back at him mockingly…

None of it was helped by the intense desire to take Buffy's face in his hands and kiss her again. It was the most vivid part of the dream, the fear of the chisna and just wanting to make sure she was okay… he vaguely remembered doing that from the memories of 2014 Dean but the dream hadn't gotten that far… like the refresher course ran out and he was shit out of luck - left with the desire for something he couldn't even fucking do. He had just wanted to make sure she was okay, like he had when they had been in Bobby's house… like she really was in the other room, like he wasn't standing here, alone.

Always alone…

With a snarl, Dean grabbed the glass and threw it against the kitchen wall where it shattered, the whiskey drenching the paint. Glass flew everywhere as the alcohol started dripping down, the sound piercing the quiet of the night and he took a deep, shaky breath.

He was really losing his fucking mind.

Dean closed his eyes, the same exhaustion that had been dogging him ever since the first night he dreamed of her closing in around him and he leaned over on the counter, burying his head in his hands. What he wouldn't give to reach into his mind right now and rip out whatever crap had been shoved in there. They weren't his memories but they felt like his. He had never felt these things but he felt like he had felt those things. That he was still feeling those things. He loved the absolute shit out of this woman and with every day that passed, it was getting harder to see past that, harder to see what was in front of him.

Harder to remember that he was no longer a hunter. That he no longer had his brother at his side.

"Damn it, Sammy, why the hell did you have to leave me…"

God, he missed Sam. He missed his brother so much… he missed seeing him, seeing him in his dreams. Hell, he'd take watching him fall in the hole over and over - anything over the torment she was creating inside him…

"Dean?"

Dean stood abruptly, knocking the bottle of whiskey over where it sloshed onto the counter. Lisa stood at the entrance of the kitchen, her eyes wide and cautious as she stared at him. Dean grabbed the bottle absently, his eyes flying to the mess on the floor before looking at her again. She hadn't moved. She hadn't said anything.

And she didn't need to; he could read it all over face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft, even.

Dean took a breath, closing his eyes as the words ached to come tumbling out: no, I'm not okay. I'll never be okay. I can't be okay again. Not without… Sam, not without my brother in my life. Not without… her.

"Yeah," he breathed out, giving her a lame smile, ignoring the nauseous feeling in his stomach as it turned, the alcohol burning his insides.

Lisa still didn't move. She looked frozen as she stared at the glass on the floor, the spot on the wall where it had impacted, the whiskey everywhere…

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It was… nothing. I just… dropped it."

Lisa nodded slowly, not responding to his lackluster words. She glanced at the glass before looking back at him, her face shuttered and stiff. When Dean met her eyes, she frowned before looking away again. She didn't say anything as she moved in, making her way to the broom closet.

"Lisa, no, I got it," Dean said gruffly, avoiding the glass to intercept her. He reached out, grabbing her shoulders to stop her and she immediately flinched away from him, giving him an indecipherable look that made him pause. He frowned. "Lisa-"

"Dean, don't," she said, holding her hand up She stared at the glass on the floor before looking up at him. She tried to move around him again but he grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

"Lisa, come on, it's fine-"

"It's not fine," she snapped angrily, snatching her arm away and taking a few paces back. Dean stared at her, unblinking as she shrugged, looking lost before drilling her eyes into his. He felt his stomach pinching as she stared at him… like she didn't know him. Like she didn't know what she was doing or why she was doing it but she was doing it anyway… Dean felt a sinking feeling fill him as he saw the last few months reflected on her face as she stared at him - unraveling. He was unraveling. She didn't know him. She didn't know anything… "It's not fine... _You're_ not fine."

He closed his eyes. "I… Yeah… I know."

"You know?" she repeated, her voice coloring with accusation before she swallowed it down, looking away. She crossed her arms, the struggle on her face. "No, I don't think you do."

"I-"

"I've got a kid upstairs, Dean," she said, her voice stringent. "And you're down here… I don't… I don't even know what you're doing and…"

"Lisa, I'm… I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding dead and she shook her head. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to fight for whatever was left of this relationship, with her, with Ben. He wanted to want this life; he wanted to put everything to bed, to rest… He wanted to see Lisa. He wanted to take comfort in Lisa. He wanted… he wanted a lot of things…

She didn't say another word. Instead she stared at him, sadly… before she turned to leave the kitchen. She pinched her lips, shaking her head again, almost like she was shaking her head at whatever she was thinking before she looked back at him.

"I'm sorry too," she said softly before leaving him.

* * *

_Month Ten_

His fingernail picked at the peeling label on his beer bottle, slowly but surely getting underneath the stickiness and pulling it back in little bits. He didn't notice the pile of trash he was leaving on the table or that his beer had gotten warm. He just stared at the label, picking at it, his mind slowly going through the motions of sitting, drinking, sitting, drinking, sitting, drinking…

Sid was somewhere in the bar, he knew that much. He had said something about needing to get home for some dinner with his in-laws but Dean couldn't remember. All he remembered was seeing Sid sitting across from him, his mouth moving but all he could think about was Buffy.

She was like this noxious cloud of fumes that wouldn't go away inside his mind. He couldn't escape her. Everywhere he looked, there was Buffy. He caught her out the corner of his eye, he saw her driving in a Jeep in front of him. He saw her walking next to him if he didn't pay attention and when sleep came…

With a deep sigh, Dean closed his eyes, setting his bottle down. He leaned forward, resting his face in his hand. He hadn't thought about Sam for weeks now. Whenever his lids shut, he saw her blonde, scarred face. Whenever he tried to think about Sam, all he saw was Buffy. He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere.

He felt a deep, gnawing pull of guilt in his gut as he thought more and more about his brother before seeing Buffy right over him, like an overlapping image. If he had had a mind to think about it, he would say he was cursed as hell right now. He couldn't get away…

He missed Sam. God, how he missed Sammy. He missed his presence, his voice, his desire to eat green things… he just missed his brother. Missed how annoyed he felt when Sam gave him 'that look' when Dean ordered a beer. Missed that warm feeling he felt whenever they met up after a hunt apart, knowing he was alive. He missed making sure they stopped at the store for his stupid protein bars. He actually missed the dreams, the pain, the horror of watching him struggle with Lucifer before falling… And now he couldn't even think about him, much less mourn him, much less do anything.

"Hey, handsome."

Dean released his face, turning to see Karen standing next to him. She smiled softly and he forced one to his lips. "Hey, Kay."

She raised an eyebrow at the mess he was leaving. "You want another?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm good."

He stiffened when she rested a hand on his arm but he forced himself to relax. She rubbed his shoulder a bit as she looked at him. "You doin' okay?"

Dean paused for a moment, looking at her hand before glancing back at her. Was he okay? Stupid question. He gave her a short nod. "Yeah. Dandy."

Karen grinned at him, leaning in like a conspirator to something he had completely missed. "Okay. Well, shout if you need something."

"Yeah," Dean replied, his eyes glued to the table where he had left a pile of his label scrapings as she headed to the table next to his, collecting bottles. He felt her eyes on him but he didn't look up as the scrapings started looking like Buffy.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go," he murmured in a low voice, his eyes feeling scratchy but he didn't want to close them, rub them. Because when he did that, all he saw was her face. And he was starting to get to that point where he wanted to slam his head into a wall - anything to erase her from his mind. Anything to erase everything from his mind. The damn memories, the damn last year, the last five years - hell, everything. He just needed a goddamn five minute reprieve.

He needed to breathe. And he couldn't.

Dean felt like he was moving in slow motion as he stood, pulling out his wallet and slipping out a few bills, dropping them on the table. He felt someone slap their palm on his back and he turned to see Sid standing next to him. He was talking, saying something and Dean frowned, nodding despite not hearing him.

"… and I definitely feel fine enough to handle the hell-in-laws now," he continued, chuckling to himself, turning to wave to Karen. "See you later, Kay!"

"You boys be careful," she responded and Dean turned back to look at her where she winked at him. He shrugged on his jacket, heading outside with Sid. He looked around, rolling his neck a bit as Sid turned to walk to the opposite side of the building where they'd parked that night. Dean moved to follow when he saw a group of women approaching him. He barely glanced at them, shoving his hands in his pocket as they brushed by, all three talking about someone in their office when Dean heard her.

He heard Buffy. It was Buffy.

Dean spun around, his eyes wide as he started after the group. "Buffy-"

And then he stopped when he saw the only blonde in the group, her back torn to shreds in long, angry scratches down the length of her back, the skin stripping off in bloody chunks through the dark green jacket she wore. Her long blonde hair was tangling in the bloody mess as she walked away from him and Dean shook his head in disbelief.

"Buffy!" he said loudly, moving quickly to follow them, his heart pounding as he got closer, the blood brighter in the dark night and he thought he could see the bone of her ribcage… "Buffy."

Dean grabbed the woman's arm, spinning her around and he felt his heart stop when he saw it wasn't her. Dean blinked slowly, shaking his head before forcing her to turn around so he could see her back.

There was nothing. No blood, no ripped skin, no green jacket…

"What the hell, guy?" the woman demanded, wrenching away from him, stepping back. He didn't realize he had been gripping her so hard when he saw her rub her arm and he stepped back, holding his hands up.

"My bad," was all he could say, his eyes still searching her face. He had been so sure it was her. Her voice, her back, her… everything. Dean felt something dark tugging deep inside as he stared at her, willing her to be who he thought she was. Who he had been so sure it was. It had to be.

"C'mon, Liene," one of her friends said, all three of them giving him cautious looks as they backed up and headed into the bar. Dean watched them leave, his eyes wide before rubbing his face. He didn't hear or feel Sid next to him until he placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

"What was that, man?" Sid asked cautiously, trying to turn Dean to look at him but Dean wouldn't, never taking his eyes off the woman until she disappeared from his eyesight. "Dean."

"Yeah?" he asked distractedly. He turned back to Sid, coming back to the moment. He looked back at the entrance to the bar, a tug of panic settling in his stomach. He forced himself to smile at Sid. "Sorry. Just thought I knew her."

"Who's Buffy?"

Dean shook his head, biting the tip of his tongue at the sound of her name on someone else's lips. He was sure it should have made him feel less insane but it only amplified everything inside his head. He was going fucking crazy.

"Nobody."

Turning back with Sid to head toward their cars, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets again, staring at the ground, his mind going over what he had just seen. Just like he always did - it had been so real.

He remembered that wolf attack like it was yesterday. That had been a "real" memory - something he had experienced with Buffy, not the crap that Zachariah has shovel-fed his brain from 2014 Dean. He knew that had been her… but it hadn't been. Dean felt his chest tightening as he started thinking about what it was he was doing, his breathing getting heavy and he made himself breath evenly as he reached his truck. He heard Sid saying something again and he nodded, responding but he wasn't sure what he said.

He heard Sid get into his car, start it up as Dean did the same. The truck's engine turned and he looked up, his eyelids thick with a debilitating exhaustion. Across the street where the beginnings of a small park with way too many trees began, he saw a man standing in the shadows on the sidewalk.

He could barely see him but he knew he was staring at him. He could feel the burning sensation of eyes drilling and he felt his mind whip into focus.

Dean frowned, shutting the truck off. Neither moved as the silence got heavier with each moment, feeling like a pressure sitting on Dean's chest as his mind fought to put two and two together when the man finally moved. Dean instinctively moved for the gun underneath the seat as the man stepped into the lighted circle of a streetlight.

He watched, his mouth dropping as his brother - who was supposed to be dead, who was supposed to be in the goddamn hole with Lucifer - took the spotlight and smiled at him from where he stood…

And his eyes were black before he cocked his head… and then disappeared.

* * *

"Wait, what?"

"I'm just…" Dean was at a loss for words as he roared down the highway, his headlights cutting through the dark night of the forest he drove through. They danced across the sides of the road, seeing nothing but darkness. No Sam. No dark figure. "I need to check this out."

"Okay, Dean…" Lisa paused on the other end, her voice sounding far away. "You know, I've been pretty… okay, considering, with everything that you're going through. I know I can't understand-"

"It's not about that, Lisa."

"But I'm trying," Lisa said, ignoring his sharp words. There was a long pause as Dean drove, unsure of what to say, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Sid called."

"Oh?"

"He said you…" Dean could imagine Lisa's face as she fought for the right words. He could hear the struggle in her tone as she continued, "You were acting weird. He was concerned."

Dean felt a trill of ice fly through his system at her words, remembering the way she looked at him anymore but he nodded, keeping his tone light, knowing he sounded like a moron as he said, "Yeah. I thought I saw somebody I used to know. It wasn't anything… weird."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"You have Bobby's number, right?" he pressed on, wanting to hang up the phone to escape the hesitation all over the other side.

He could hear Lisa's frown in her voice. "Yeah, but… Are you… going somewhere, what are you doing?"

"Yes. No. Well… I'm not going anywhere. I'm just checking stuff out. I just… I saw something" - something real, he had no doubts - "and I want to make sure… I'm just checking something out. You know how I get with these things."

"Okay…"

"Just a little OCD," Dean joked. His hand gripped the steering wheel tightly as he followed the gentle curve of the road. He had no idea where he was going. He had absolutely no clues, nothing to fall back on. He didn't want to go home to check and see if there were any demonic omens. He didn't want to stop anywhere. The minute Sam disappeared, he had started his truck and he just drove. He just… drove.

The strange calmness that had taken over him rivaled the ill-placed joy at seeing his brother. He could feel his mind whirling through the possibilities but he kept pushing it back, pushing it down… He'd been seeing a lot of strange shit lately… Maybe someone really was fucking with him.

Or maybe he should be driving to the nearest loony bin since he was not only clocking blood-covered Buffys but demon-filled Sams.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"Okay. How long will you-"

"Just tonight," Dean replied immediately, finally allowing himself to think about what he was doing. He felt a little foolishness creeping into his mind the more he talked to Lisa, the more she talked like a reasonable, sane human being while he sat here, telling her he was taking off to go chase his dead brother who was possibly also a demon and who was also possibly a figment of his freaky damn imagination... "I won't be gone long, I promise. Just want to check it out, make sure everything's okay."

"Alright… Well, you know Ben has his match this weekend and he wanted you there."

Dean shook his head at her insinuation. "I said I'd come, I wouldn't miss that."

"Okay," she said, her tone quietly cautious.

"Okay. Uh, I have my phone and-"

"Dean," she said, her voice soft. He paused. "Are you …" Dean frowned as she took a deep breath, sounding tired. "Just come back in one piece, okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I will."

"Good. Okay… See ya."

She hung up. Dean stared at the phone for a moment, the bright screen flashing the "Call Disconnected" symbol at him before he snapped it closed, squeezing it tightly in his fist before dropping it in the passenger seat.

What in the blue fucking hell was he doing? Dean gritted his teeth, holding onto the steering wheel, breathing in deeply through his nose. What was he doing? Dean shook his head at himself before rolling down his window, sticking his hand out in the cool air as the cab suddenly felt stuffy and hot; like he couldn't breathe.

For a moment, he drove fine. The road stayed clear, the headlights stayed focused as he followed the curves of the road that was leading him deeper into the woods. He wasn't sure where he was going and he knew that eventually he would need to turn around to head back into town.

Dean wasn't sure exactly what he had seen. He felt his chest tightening all over again as he thought about seeing Buffy. He had been so damn sure that was her, he could have sworn it was her. He had reacted without thinking, said her name without thinking. He hadn't uttered her name consciously in years and here he was, chasing some woman down the road because he thought it was Buffy? A bleeding, torn up Buffy? The same Buffy whom he had run into a few years ago, the same Buffy that put him on this path of insanity, the same Buffy who put him in Zachariah's crosshairs more than he already was…

And then what the hell was that with Sam? Had that been him? The more he tried to concentrate on it, the blurrier the memory became, to the point where he wasn't sure what the hell he had seen. Buffy was perfect; crystal clear. The man in the road… Sammy… not so much.

"Damn it," Dean snapped, slapping his palm on the steering wheel before slowing the truck down, pulling it to a dead stop on the side of the road. A cloud of dust rose up around him, fogging up the air in front of his headlights. Dean breathed heavily, bowing his head, leaning on the steering wheel for a moment. "What the hell are you doing?"

Talking to himself like an insane person. Rationalizing seeing a woman who only lived in his head. Feeling an outrageous amount of anger towards that woman because she was all he could see. Every single time he closed his eyes, there she was. He no longer saw Sam. He thought about Sam, remembered Sam but... He wanted to see Sam again.

And he had…

No. Sam was… dead, Sam was dead.

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes before leaning his head back. Sam was dead. Buffy was probably dead considering the highway to hell she had been so hell bent on following… Dean ignored the wrench inside his stomach at the thought, forcing his eyes open as he tried to breathe normally.

"What is happening to me?" he whispered to himself, closing his eyes when he felt a deep burn before rubbing his face painfully. That panic was coming back tenfold…

A rustle from across the street caught his attention and Dean whipped his head to the sound, blinking away the film of tears to focus on the wooded wall he stared at. The silence of the night pushed down on him as he stared, his ears straining, his eyes trying to see what had made the sound before he shook his head at himself.

"Animals live in forests, jackass," he said to himself, turning to stare out the windshield. A long moment passed before he rolled his eyes. "And crazy people talk to themselves."

Another rustle reached his ears before he heard a distinct sound like a footstep in the brush. The sound was close enough to cause the little hairs on the back of his neck to stick up. Dean stiffened, turning to study the trees again. But, just like before, there was nothing.

Scanning the area, Dean turned and leaned into the backseat, pulling out the duffle bag he kept stashed on the floor. He dropped it on the passenger seat, tearing open the zipper as he looked around once more before turning to the bag. Holy water. Knives. His favorite sawed off shotgun. He pulled it out, checking the chamber before looking back into the forest when he saw him.

Dean had no doubt in his mind that he was looking at the same man he had seen before but all he could see was the vague outline of him, standing farther in the woods. It could be… He was tall but he could be anybody… and he was walking away from him, silently.

Dean leaned out his window and shouted, "Hey!"

The man paused, turning his head to glance back over his shoulder. Dean felt a chill fall down his spine, knowing instantly that he hadn't seen Sam earlier… This wasn't Sam as he imagined the smile on the man's face before he turned back to walking away from him.

Dean growled under his breath, turning back to his bag, grabbing a bottle of holy water, a package of salt, his silver knife and the shotgun. Wrenching the door open, Dean shoved everything into his pockets before leaning down and grabbing his handgun.

He didn't notice the lone figure a couple hundred yards behind him, the bike pulled to the side of the road as she stood, watching him. He only saw the shadow in the woods, the man that was taunting him, chasing him… using his brother to get to him…

Dean ran into the woods.

"Damn it," he mumbled, pushing through the trees. A branch swiped out, slapping him across the face and he angrily pushed it away, crashing through the trees without direction. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, squinting in the darkness, trying to find him but he was nowhere to be seen. "Hey!"

Nothing.

"Show yourself, you spineless dick!" he shouted again, his voice carrying. Still nothing. Dean's breathing started picking up again and he shoved his shotgun under his arm, rubbing his face with both hands. He couldn't explain the sudden surge of panic that slammed into his chest as he realized he was standing in the middle of a forest he knew nothing about, by himself, chasing a shadow. He had done this countless times but right now… Dean shook his head before squaring his jaw. He dropped his shotgun into his hand, narrowing his eyes.

"C'mon!"

Dean pushed forward, slower this time, looking around. For a few minutes, he kept going, hearing nothing more than his own boots in the damp ground, the leaves crunching softly beneath them. He heard a rustle and when he turned he saw a creepy little owl staring right at him.

"Look somewhere else, you little bitch," he grumbled at it.

Finding a small clearing, Dean stopped, turning around slowly in confusion as he watched the scene around him adjust…

He was inside a perfect circle.

"What the..." he murmured to himself, studying the lines before moving out to investigate. The brush at his feet had been cut in perfect, correct lines, forming a large circle. The grass inside was even flattened, almost like those crop circles from those hokey UFO shows. There was more to it and as Dean moved closer to the outer edge, he saw more lines. Very familiar lines.

He was standing inside a perfect devil's trap.

"What the hell?" he said loudly, looking up to look around and noticing that the trees around him had moved farther out, looking like they were suddenly miles away. Dean's stomach dropped as he turned quicker, his eyes flying around. No, no... he had just moved faster than he thought, that was all. Pressing his palms to his eyes, Dean shook his head before dropping his hands. "Screw this."

Dean moved to get out of the circle, ready to break out into a sprint the further the trees seemed to be getting away from him – what in the blue fucking hell? He felt a hot burst of fear in his chest - when it felt like he ran into a very large, very painful and very clear brick wall.

Dean cursed, his face ramming into something, his nose making an ugly crunching noise and he hissed, stumbling back before falling on the ground. He looked up, confused, at where a wall should be. That sure as hell felt like a damn wall. Dean touched his nose, cursing again when he felt the hot mulch his skin had become. He felt a trickle of something hot and warm falling down his face and he rubbed his sleeve across his nose.

When he pulled his hand back, it was coated in blood.

"Oh god," he mumbled. "What the hell?"

Pulling himself to his feet, Dean held out a hand as he pushed towards the edge of the circle again but instead of going through the clear air as he saw it, he felt something stopping him. What had felt like a punch in the face just a second ago now felt like he was pushing through tar. Dean tried to push through it with both hands but nothing happened and he felt a rush of fear-filled panic pulse through his body.

"No," he said, his voice cracking as he looked around again. He was inside a devil's trap. He was stuck inside a devil's trap. That goddamn sucker had tricked him. Something was wrong. This shouldn't be happening…

"No!" Dean pushed again on the invisible wall, his hands just stopping in midair as he pushed on it. But nothing happened. "No!"

"Yes."

Dean whirled around and he felt his chest hollow out.

"Sammy?"

"Hello, Dean," his brother replied softly, his eyes gentle as he stood before him, wearing what he had been wearing when he had taken the jump… The serene smile on his face was the same as the one Lucifer had warped at him that day… that goddamn day when he took his brother away from him. Dean opened his mouth to speak, to question, to rail him about whatever the hell was going on… to make him stop, to make him… be real.

Because he wasn't. He couldn't be.

Dean shook his head, stumbling away from him when he heard footsteps directly behind him.

Dean whirled and came face to face with himself. Dean's mouth dropped as he took himself in: his doppelganger was coated in a mixture of blood and dirt, cuts and bruises decorating his skin like it had danced inside a meat grinder, a cold smirk on his face as he stared at him. Dean tried to breath but he felt like he was breathing water.

"Sucks, huh?" his doppelganger said, stepping away from him to indicate the circle. "Wondering what's going on there, Dean-o?"

"What?" Dean rasped in confusion, watching himself chuckle.

"The human mind is so _interesting_," his other self continued, his voice calm and amused. "It's amazing what we can make ourselves believe when we really need it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this." Dean watched his dark self step in, get close, his face contorted in malicious glee.

"You never left Hell, Dean," he heard Sam say behind him.

Dean choked, the moist air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. "What?"

"You never left Hell," his other self continued before he watched in disbelief as he shifted into someone smaller, softer... blonder. His eyes widened as Buffy cocked her head, staring up at him. She smirked, making the scar on her face deepen and he felt a deep tug in his chest as he watched her. It was her. He knew it was her. Suddenly a waft came towards him that was only Buffy. Only ever Buffy. Dean felt a mixture of disbelief and relief flood him and he found he wanted to step up and hug her. Pull her in. Never let her go... tell her to never let him go...

"You never left, Dean," she said, her voice soft. "You tortured, you killed, you maimed... you killed yourself. None of this. Me. You... Sam… None of it was real. None of it was real... You never left."

"What? No..." Dean didn't feel the tears until he felt one escape and he felt his mouth quivering slightly as he watched her lips form the words, over and over again. She had been real, it had all been real, he was sure of it…. Sam, Bobby, Buffy… Hell, Lisa and Ben… But Dean couldn't ignore the growing pit in his stomach as that little voice in the back of his head whispered, "What if…"

What if he had never escaped Hell? What if Cas had never ventured down there? What if he was still torturing people, killing people… losing himself? What if this was some fucked up fantasy in his head to save himself from himself…?

She stepped towards him, her arms crossed, her face serene as she said, "None of it was real...".

"Buffy-"

"Dean."

Dean jumped, spinning around at the sound of his name to find Sam gone and in his place Buffy, her arms crossed just as she had been, her face cold as she stared at him. Dean blinked, shaking his head before turning around to see if the other Buffy was there but she wasn't. Dean turned back, swallowing hard. This Buffy was dressed differently, covered head to toe in black, a heavy leather jacket encasing her upper half. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail as she stared at him. Dean frowned.

"Buffy? What..."

"Come with me."

"What?" Dean asked again, turning once again to see if the other Buffy was there but she wasn't. Dean's eyes danced around the small open space, the trees back in their spots, the perfect lines of the devil's trap gone. He choked out a breath as he realized he had been imagining it.

Again.

"Damn it," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head when he heard the noise behind. "No. No, you aren't real. None of this is real. None of it was real."

"Dean."

He didn't turn at the voice, feeling something like a vice starting to twist his chest to pieces as he closed his eyes. Her voice. It was hers. It was colder, emotionless though. Dark. But familiar. And then Dean shook his head, chuckling to himself.

"Man, Winchester, you know how to go off the rails like the best of 'em," he mumbled to himself, still not moving. His eyes were locked on a piece of dead trunk laying a few feet away from him. He frowned at it, shaking his head before looking up at the sky. "Looks like I'm taking the trophy for biggest basket case home, huh, Sammy?"

"Don't be a moron," she said behind him and this time, she touched him. Dean jerked away where she gripped his shoulder, stumbling a bit as he reeled away from her, his eyes wild.

"What the hell?" he ground out, his eyes narrowing. She wasn't disappearing. She wasn't going away. Dean closed his eyes, trying to make the image disappear but when he opened them again, she was still there. "What the hell?"

"Dean."

"Stop it," he snapped, closing his eyes. When he opened them, she was still there. He shook his head. "You aren't real." She opened her mouth to speak and Dean - for a perfect, incomplete moment - lost himself in a shock of memories as he stared at her. He had forgotten how goddamn beautiful the woman was. How much he had missed the scar, her eyes, her nose... How much he had craved her smell, how much he had really just wanted to fall into her arms and let her tell him everything was okay... Dean screwed his eyes shut again, slamming a palm into the side of his head. "Goddamn it! Screw that Zachariah asshole."

"What?"

"Fuck off," he growled at her but she didn't move. She didn't hardly react but to raise her eyebrow at him and cross her arms, looking annoyed. Dean shook his head before flexing his hands, wondering what he had done with his shotgun. And then he remembered he hadn't come entirely unprepared. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he slipped out his gun, cocking the hammer and holding it up. "You aren't real."

"I hope you're joking," was all she said, barely flinching at the gun in his hand and Dean knew without a doubt that he was dreaming. This Buffy was too calm. His Buffy would have ripped him a new one. This Buffy was in his head. His finger itched on the trigger before he felt how badly his hand was shaking.

"You... you took Sam from me," he said, his voice rough as he closed his eyes, his hold on his gun wavering. He missed the confused look she shot him as he shook his head. "You... get the fuck out of my head. You are not real."

And then she smirked, rolling her eyes at him. "I am real."

Dean frowned at her before she shifted positions, tilting her head and blinking.

And when she opened her eyes again... they were pitch black.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I apologize for lackluster updates. I've been working on other large writing projects, but I have definitely not abandoned this story. A special thank you to my friend Mara for helping me out when stuck on this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Dean jerked awake, his eyes flying open before snapping shut again. The room was bathed in a harsh light that made his corneas blaze like the devil's junk, shooting a spike of pain through his head. He groaned, covering his eyes as he rolled away from it and found himself about to slip off the edge of a bed that smelled like molted mothballs before he caught himself.

"What?"

He squinted at the shoddy bedroom, holding a hand up to block the lamp on the nightstand as he sat up. His arm ached like it had been put through a taffy machine and he groaned again, his chest tight and constricting as he tried to breathe.

The spike of pain through his head worsened as the room started spinning. His head was a pulsating bruise and Dean reached up, rubbing his temples before wiping his hand across his face. His five o'clock shadow had quickly become a five-o'clock-plus-a-day shadow and his skin was hot and covered in old sweat. Rubbing the beard he didn't remember growing, his fingers dug into a tender cheekbone.

"Ow," he hissed, yanking his hand back. Dried blood flaked on his fingertips and he scowled at it, pressing on his cheek again and cursing when the pain radiated hotter through his skull.

He didn't remember getting that happy new shiner either.

"What the hell?" he asked the empty room, looking around quickly. Blood gushed back and forth against his skull in time with the movements, making the pain worse, but he ignored it, pushing himself off the bed. It turned into a damn bad idea as the room immediately turned into a Tilt A Whirl. Dean cursed, tilting right along with it until he slammed into a wall.

"Okay, okay, okay," he moaned, his stomach lurching, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His temples throbbed worse. "I got it, I got it, moving bad."

He waited for a moment before peeking. No spinning ugly-ass beige walls met him; everything stayed put. He took a deep breath, swallowing uneasily as his stomach roiled. Christ, what had happened to him... And where in the hell was he?

He had been in the forest… images splattered against the walls inside his head as he saw Sammy… and then himself, bloody and ripped up… talking to himself, before seeing Buffy - everyone telling him nothing was real. He'd never left Hell…That none of his life was real, that he was still down there. Or… or that he was a demon.

This was all in his head, that nothing was real… that he was still in the pit, that he had let his humanity get leeched from him like a freaky demon drain, that he was… just gone.

The room started shaking again as he closed his eyes at the notion, nausea slamming into his stomach with violent force.

"No," Dean grumbled, shaking his head again - that couldn't be - before another flash came.

Buffy.

She'd been there. Not just in his mind, Buffy _had been there_. Real - too real. She'd been… possessed… Dean's stomach clenched. She'd had black eyes. With that cold, evil smirk that chilled him straight through his bones and Dean remembered pulling the trigger on her but she'd been too quick, swatting his hand out of the way with more force than he ever remembered being inside that tiny body of hers and then she'd shoved him away. She had barely grunted with exertion, plowing into him.

And then nothing.

She had been there. She had touched him. Dean felt his chest getting tighter. She was alive. She was here. Which meant he had really been seeing her all this time... which meant that she had been there the entire time? That he wasn't really losing his goddamn mind, that… what, she was following him? Why?

The rush of joy at the thought of seeing Buffy - being near her, holding her, hell, just looking at her - was sullied the new fancy welt across his face and the creepy room you usually see before you get murdered. And her eyes… the soulless, black eyes…

"Damn it, no," Dean growled, looking around again. He had to find her. He had to find out what had had happened - how could she have let this happen? What goddamn demon was inside her? A white hot rage blossomed in his chest as his mind muddied at the thought of some skanky demon infiltrating her, drowning her. "No, no, not like this."

The room was small and stuffy. There was a door, and a tiny window on the opposite side and he could see it was barred on the outside. Keeping a hand on the wall, Dean took a few steps, his legs feeling like they were full of sand as he waited for the room to start spinning again but it maintained.

The locked doorknob rattled in his hand. He limped towards the small window, ripping thin blinds up and out of the way and he tried to lift it, already wondering what he would need to pop those stupid bars out of the way but the damn thing was locked too. _Damn_ locked, like it hadn't been opened in years. Staring at the rusted hinges and the matted down seal, Dean frowned at it before looking out.

He was at least six stories up and the room faced another really crappy brick building with hardly a window. The glass he looked through was scratched and muddied, making it look hazy from the light in the room against the dark night, and he couldn't see much past the other building to see any landmarks, any streets, anything. He had no fucking idea where he was. Or how long he'd been there.

"Well, that's just damn peachy," he grumbled before slamming his palm against the window. It didn't even groan. "Awesome."

Catching his milky reflection, Dean winced. The left side of his face was an ugly smear of bruising and he could see the deep cut over his cheekbone.

"That's so not cool," he muttered, facing the room again. Blood was starting to circulate through his limbs again, making them painfully tingly; he was starting to feel every little hit he had taken in the last however many hours he'd been down for the count, for however long that was. He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, but it was gone. Christ, what the hell had happened to him? Better question: what the hell had she done to him?

The thought shot an icy thread through his chest.

"Alright, so Plan B. After shitty Plan A crashed and burned."

He checked his pockets. No keys or cell phone, which was awesome. She obviously hadn't bothered to do a thorough strip job after beating him 'til his lights were out because he found the holy water and knife he had stashed in his jacket. His guns were missing, surprise surprise, and for all he knew, they were probably still lying in the field back in the woods.

"Okay, she's still blonde," he cracked to himself, his voice thin as his fingers slid against the cool hilt and blade of the knife. He felt a leveling amount of calm fill him as he held it, feeling ten times better. If that was all he had, he would make do. He still felt naked and exposed knowing he didn't have anything else but the little knife but he would make do.

He always did.

Even when the woman haunting his life came roaring back like a literal punch to the head.

Putting the knife in his outer pocket, Dean headed back to the door, pressing his hands against it. Sturdy but shitty - the kind of high quality crap you find in the skeezy part of downtown because the owners were sick of people beating their buildings to shit. If he didn't mind adding a few more bruises to his body, he could probably bust through it if the lock didn't give. And of course, he realized, he'd left his picking kit in the duffle in his truck - he'd stopped carrying it months ago like a complete jackass. Like a goddamn normal person who didn't need it on a regular basis.

Like someone who wasn't a hunter.

Dean pressed his ear against the wood. He couldn't hear anything on the other side and he wiggled the knob again, rougher this time, and it barely jiggled back.

"Freaking great," Dean glowered, taking a step back and adjusting his shoulders, feeling a hot spear of pain slice through the tendons of one but he ignored it. He'd worry about the overall damage later. Besides, listing all the reasons, including beating the absolute crap out of him, of why Buffy was most likely an insane possessed person wasn't really putting him in a better mood.

He braced himself to test his heft against the wood when he heard it.

"Hello?"

Dean started at the sound of the tiny and muffled voice coming from the other side of the door.

"Hello?" he shouted, his voice ragged and he swallowed painfully. "Is somebody out there?"

"Oh god, thank god," the voice replied, high pitched and female. There was a tiny sob and the sound of struggling. "Please, help me. I'm t-tied to a chair."

Dean paused at that. What the hell?

"Okay," he said slowly, stepping back a little to study the door again. "Uh, hang on."

Dean tried the doorknob again before checking the hinges, absently thinking about jail cells and leverage and how cool it would be if the door just lifted off instead of having to turn his bones into mashed potatoes. He heard another sob from the other side and he braced himself again.

"Please, she-she said she's c-coming back!" the voice said and Dean paused.

"She?" he repeated, his heart dropping as blood turned into the Colorado River through his head, making it throb. "What she?"

"I-I don't know. Just please get me out of here."

"Okay, but… Well, does she, uh…" Dean frowned, making the headache pound harder as his mind raced around the idea of Buffy holding him hostage and tying people to chairs. What the hell was she doing? The fear was coming back triple fold as he thought again about her face twisted in a sneer, her eyes black…

Evil. Demonic...

"Is she…" Sporting some seriously freaky black eyes that make you want to crap your pants? "Short, annoying and have a freakishly scarier scar than Inigo Montoya?"

"P-Please, I don't-"

"Yeah, okay, okay, right," Dean said. Bracing himself, he cursed under his breath at the thought of what he had somehow dived headfirst into before he rammed his shoulder into the door. It made a long, angry creak and he let out a pained breath as a deeper pain started in his ribs. "Christ…"

Face crinkled in pain, Dean saw the door hadn't budged. Stepping back again, he reeled his leg back and kicked it and watched a long splinter appear on the wood right where his boot had been but the door maintained.

"Damn," he breathed. "That's a good door."

Hearing a high pitched sob from the other side, Dean turned to look around the room for something heavy enough to hit the door with - hell, hit the doorknob with.

"Hang on a sec," he yelled, moving towards the nightstand. Grabbing the lamp, he tossed it on the bed, creating oblong shadows as he bent over, grunting as he shoved his fingers underneath it and hefted it up. His shoulder immediately screamed with hot pain and he gritted his teeth, almost letting the nightstand slip from his fingers as he hoofed it over and set it against the door, right above the doorknob.

"Please hurry," came from the other side and Dean grunted again, rolling his eyes, "I'm working on it!" A flitting thought ran through his mind at how strangely good this felt - being back in the game - before he crushed it. Not his idea of a good time. It was a strange sensation to have considering he was locked up after being knocked out by his demonic ex-girlfriend whom he also happened to still be in love with despite the fact that she was kidnapping people and clearly off her meds. And all this despite the glaringly red stoplight that the love he was feeling for the suddenly much more deranged chick was from his phantom 2014 self.

The newscast from a few months ago darted through his mind. Had that been Buffy too? The evidence was kind of building as well as the exhilaration that he wasn't going fucking insane.

Thank absolute hell he wasn't going insane.

Breathing heavily, Dean leaned against the nightstand for a moment before bending his knees and lifting it higher. Using gravity as his best friend, Dean pushed the nightstand down on the doorknob. There was a sharp crack as the doorknob and a large chunk of door ripped off, falling to the floor as the nightstand slammed into the ground with a heavy crash, a shocked shriek from the woman on the other side accompanying it.

"Nice. Didn't think that'd work." He kicked the nightstand over and out of the way, kicking the knob under the bed as he reached through the jagged hole to push the lock out.

"Oh god, oh god, thank god," the woman said. Her eyes lighted on him, recognition filling them as relief filled her face. "Dean!"

Dean stopped.

Karen - his bartender who had taken a liking to him. His bartender who took care of him when it came to his scotch. The bartender who was tied up in this shitty apartment room, to a crappy chair, covered in dried blood.

He blinked.

"Dean," she started, her voice hitched, her makeup smeared around bloodshot eyes as she tugged on the ties holding her hands back. "Please… hurry."

"What is going on?" Dean asked slowly, hating the taste of the words, hating not knowing what was happening. Taking a few more steps, his eyes shot around the room. It was a large, shoddy apartment with a tiny kitchenette and a cigarette-burned couch along one wall. His eyes flew back to Karen where she sat tied to a metal chair, her hands tied behind her, her legs secured. There was a small table next to her where a plastic bag and a knife sat, also covered in blood, along with a needle and what looked like a used IV bag. A dirtied towel covered in old blood hung off one side. He frowned at the large plastic covering on the floor, splatters and small pools of red already decorating it. Not that it was protecting much as the carpet had been worn so badly the concrete was starting to show underneath.

This looked like a bad-plotted episode of Dexter. So where was Dexter?

Karen was trembling as she watched him, her eyes constantly darting to the door. Her face crinkled with desperation, more tears leaking out.

"Dean, please," she whimpered. "She's coming back."

"Who?" Dean stepped onto the plastic, his boots crunching, already knowing the answer. This had weird demonic bullcrap written all over it… and if Buffy was possessed…

Dean slipped out his knife as he looked around the room once more before stepping behind her, examining the bonds around her wrists. He noticed they were laced with what looked like coagulated blood and he frowned - it wasn't coming from Karen.

"I-I don't know who it is," she stuttered, her voice cracking. "I was, I was leaving the bar and somebody… jumped me and knocked me out and suddenly I was here and…" Another sob. "She hurt me. She said she wanted to know things, things she said I knew but I don't, I don't know what she's talking about."

Dean flipped the knife in his hand before he started cutting at the thick ropes, the frayed edges coming apart under the sharp blade. She tugged on her arms insistently and Dean grabbed her wrist, stilling her, feeling the sticky cooled blood as he held her. He pulled his hand back but didn't see any cuts on her arm - where was the blood coming from? - but he continued on. "Hold still or I'll cut you."

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice full of tears. "I don't… I don't understand."

"You and me both, sister," he grunted, already halfway through the thick rope when he heard the sound of a key entering a lock and he paused, looking up just as the front door swung open.

Buffy stopped in mid-step, her eyes lighting on them, her expression darkening when she saw what was happening.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked. Dean felt a shiver fall down his spine at the sound of her voice, the voice he knew so well; it was the same raspy quality he remembered, but he ignored it. Ignored it and everything else fighting to come to the surface all at once at the words coming from her lips... She was here, she was alive...

Dean straightened, Karen forgotten, the ropes forgotten as Buffy stepped into the room, slamming the door behind her. She dropped the brown bag she had been carrying, whatever was inside landing heavily on the floor with a dull thud.

"Dean, get away from her," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes trained on Karen before flying to Dean.

He didn't bother responding. He didn't bother thinking as he just moved, his boots catching the plastic underneath his feet with a loud squeak. He hazily saw Buffy reaching for the gun he was sure in the band of her pants but he was already on her, shoving her against the wall with a loud exhale of breath, the knife flipped in his hand as he pinned her to the wall, the sharp blade against her throat. The skin had already sliced where he held it and Buffy stiffened under his grasp, letting out a shaky, shallow breath.

Dean breathed harshly, the adrenaline rushing through him as he watched her. He felt a rush of scattered emotions as he processed the fact that Buffy was here, in front of him. The leather of her jacket was chilled to the touch as he held her, her thin frame hidden within; he could feel her short breaths against his own face. The scar that made her his Buffy looked deeper, angrier than he remembered.

But it was Buffy.

It. Was. Buffy.

She was here, he was touching her… She was something he could touch, feel, not just smoke in his mind…

"Dean-"

"Shut up," he growled, gritting his teeth as he blinked. She felt real. She was real. She was here, Buffy was here. A whip of desperation slashed through his chest as the almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and never let her go crashed through him but he pushed it down, pushed the emotions away, shoved the memories far away. He couldn't handle it, he couldn't deal with any of that crap. He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes. It wasn't even his goddamn crap, it was that fake Dean from fake 2014 and nothing had actually happened... but that didn't make what he was feeling any less intense.

He wanted to say something; he wanted to scream, he wanted to yell at her but the words wouldn't come, his tongue thick before a flash of Buffy with black eyes, an evil smirk slanting her lips… His limbs started shaking where he held her, he gripped the knife so hard.

Keeping the blade pressed against her throat, he slipped his other hand into his inner pocket to grab the flask of holy water, but she knew what he was doing the minute he moved. She swung her arm up and out, knocking the hand with the knife away from her and simultaneously jamming her elbow into his chin. A burst of stars clouded his vision as he stumbled back, cursing. She was already stepping in, her hands balled into fists when he flung the flask out, the top popping off and he splashed the water into her face.

Buffy sputtered, opening her mouth in shock… but that was it - nothing happened. No steam, no pain. No reaction at all. Dean stared at her, his heart clogging his throat, but he didn't pause. Everything happened in the blink of an eye as he dropped the flask and he flipped the knife in his grip once again, charging her and slamming her back into the wall.

"Jesus Christ!" she barked, her head slamming into the plaster but Dean wasn't paying attention as he pinned Buffy's arm, shoving her jacket sleeve out of the way. He sliced the silver knife across her inner forearm, blood immediately flowing to the surface and dripping to the floor.

And that was it. No hissing, no ooze, no nothing except a rush of hot blood covering both of them.

"Damn it!" Buffy snapped, shoving him away. She slapped a hand over the deep cut on her arm, hissing when her dirty hands touched it. She glared at him as he stared at it, his mouth hanging open as she spat, "I'm not a fucking demon, you jackass! Or a shapeshifter! Or anything!"

Dean shook his head slowly, the knife slipping from numb fingers. He turned confused but accusing eyes on her. "No. No, I saw you. I saw-"

"You don't know what you saw," Buffy replied harshly, grabbing the blood soaked towel from the table and shoving it up her jacket sleeve. She grimaced as she pressed the soiled cloth into her wound, her eyes never leaving Dean's confused stare. "You saw what she wanted you to see."

"What?"

Buffy's eyes switched to Karen and Dean followed her gaze, frowning and feeling a stab of guilt when he met the bartender's fearful gaze, having forgotten she was there.

"No..." he continued, shaking his head. "No, you were there, I saw it."

"Dean-" he heard Karen say and he watched Buffy turn the glare to the bartender when another Buffy popped up right next to her.

Dean choked on his breath as this other Buffy started walking towards him while the bleeding Buffy said something as she picked up his knife, but he didn't hear her words, a rush of blood suddenly bombarding his veins, flooding his ears.

Closing his eyes tightly, Dean willed them both away but when he opened them again... they were both still there.

They looked the same, they acted the same. He watched one of the Buffys peeled back her sleeve to inspect her wound, her face screwed up in anger as the other Buffy kept coming towards him. Dean stumbled back, his leg hitting the coffee table. He didn't take his eyes off of her as she smiled at him...

"Who's real, Dean?" she asked mockingly, blinking slowly. When her eyes opened, they were black before melting back to their hazel color... Dean jerked away from her as she stepped closer. "Is this real?"

"Stop it. Stop it, leave me alone," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut again but when he opened them, she was still there.

"Save me, Dean," she suddenly whispered as she walked towards him.

As she moved, her body started shifting, stooping and Dean watched in dismay as her face contorted in agony, her eyes filled with blood-shot pain. Her skin started cracking open in tiny slits all over, blood oozing to the surface and the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils as the frayed edges of her skin crackled. Her eyes never left his as her clothes fell away, revealing a body that looked nothing like hers.

It didn't even look human anymore.

This one was used... abused, broken... literally torn to shreds...

"No, you're not real," he breathed, his voice cracking and he didn't notice the other Buffy staring at him.

"I am real," the broken Buffy whispered, her voice catching as a large cut suddenly blossomed across her throat from an invisible knife, the skin spreading open as it flayed away. She choked on something wet as blood dribbled down her chest. "I can't… breathe… Dean... help me."

"Oh god," he choked, shaking his head as the world tilted. Dean felt his feet slipping as the ground moved up, the room spinning and he stumbled back, his foot catching on the table again. He fell on the edge of the couch, his back landing with a crack but he didn't feel any of it as the room flipped, making his stomach roll as he stared at the ceiling… his heart tightened painfully as memories of seeing Jessica up there roared through his mind… of his mom and what she might have looked like… of Sam…

But this was nothing like it at the same time.

Buffy was strapped to the torture table. She laid on rusted, hot metal, her hands and feet bound to it with sharp iron manacles that cut into her wrists, bleeding her. She was staring at him, a piece of leather with insignias he remembered only too well covering her mouth, keeping her still. Keeping her from moving, escaping...

How many times had he used that very table when he had been in Hell? How many times had he strapped innocent souls to it, carved them up like meat, worked them until they admitted they were nothing more than the air he allowed them to breath? Breaking himself more than he broke them... giving up, giving in, losing himself… losing his humanity.

"No!" he whispered hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away, and then he saw himself, standing next to the table, like he was looking in on the scene from above.

Dean felt his stomach clenching as bile rose in the back of his throat, burning, and his doppelganger - dirty, trashed, torn up... the demon from the field - looked up and straight at him, a bloody, curved knife in hand. A knife his own hands remembered holding, a knife he felt right then, like the fucked up muscle memory he still tried so hard to forget. His hand tingled with the sensation as he felt it starting to curve, to match the handle and he clenched his hands into fists.

"No!"

His eyes were dark, black through and through, a smile he had never seen on his own face stared back at him before he turned back to his victim - his Buffy, strapped to the table... bleeding, crying out in pain, undulating, trying to get away from him... her torturer.

"Buffy, no!" he shouted as his doppelganger slid the sharp knife into her abdomen like she was warm butter, cutting through her seamlessly and hot blood rained down on Dean's face, choking him, blinding him, the metallic stench making him gag... "No!"

"You are so pathetic," he heard his doppelganger's voice, echoing through his head before Dean watched him pull the knife out and aim it straight for Buffy's chest...

For a split second, Dean felt everything she felt - the engulfing pain, the acid inside his chest from the knife, the pain, the horror of what he was doing to her, this man, this demon, this monster... The Buffy on the ceiling stared at him, the leather gone, her mouth open in a silent scream, blood leaking from between her teeth before a sharp, bright fire burst out, burning them. It enveloped them both, the fire coming at him and licking at his face…

When Buffy burst through the vision, the images on the ceiling disappeared in a cloud of smoke as she slapped him across the face, his head rocketing to the side with so much force he felt his spine crack.

"Snap out of it," she said harshly, grabbing his chin to focus his eyes on her but all he saw was another Buffy, standing behind this one, her eyes black, the smirk back. Her head was cocked as she stared at Dean, raising an eyebrow and Dean growled, ripping his chin from Buffy's grasp.

He had done this to her, he had done this, he had broken her, used her, killed her... she was gone... He had killed her.

He had created her. Everything he'd been seeing... she'd come back. He had mutilated everything good about her in Hell… every single person down there he had mutilated was going to become a demon, their humanity literally eaten away… and Buffy right along with them.

Any logic arguing against what he was seeing right in front of him died an ugly death in his head.

He had done this. He had killed her.

"Get away from me!" he growled angrily at the demonic Buffy, shoving the other one out of the way. He didn't think twice about what he saw - he didn't feel anything but the encompassing desire to save her…

He leapt for the demonic Buffy but she danced out of the way and Dean spun to keep up with her, his foot slamming into the brown bag Buffy had brought in with her, knocking it over. He heard a loud yell and someone laughing but he didn't care; he was already moving after the demonic Buffy. "Let her go, you bitch!"

"How could you do this to me, Dean?" the demonic Buffy mocked him, moving around the room, Dean's eyes following her. "You killed me. You _gutted_ me. This is what happens when you let go in Hell, Dean... this is what you did to me."

A dark chuckle fell from her lips and Dean leapt for her again when he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder and yank him back, slamming him into a wall with so much force, Dean's breath flew from his lungs and he sank to the ground, struggling for air. He felt two hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket and yanking him to his feet, slamming him against the wall again.

"Snap the fuck out of it!" Buffy yelled, her voice sounding like glass against his mind as she held him up. Dean blinked down at her before flying around the room but there was no other Buffy. His eyes flew to the Buffy holding him up, her eyes fierce, her makeup smudged from the holy water he had splashed on her as she glared at him. "Are you with me?"

"Buffy?" he asked, his voice uncertain, his eyes flying around again before locking onto hers. He watched in horror as she blinked and her eyes were once again filled with that black, demonic smoke and he grimaced, the horror filling him before instinct took over and he pushed his arms up, breaking her hold. He heard her cursing as he grabbed her shoulders, spinning them so he had her slammed up against the wall, his hold on her so tight that her jacket buttons popped open, revealing a light peach camisole underneath as one hand gripped her throat to keep her in place.

"You aren't real!" he shouted in her face, his hand tightening on her throat. He felt her struggling against him, her nails clawing at his hand but all he saw were black eyes, her mouth open as she laughed at him. Her jacket fell further down her shoulders as she struggled against him and his eyes snapped to the bared skin incredulously, to the inky blemish on her skin, the mark that hadn't been there before.

She wasn't real.

This wasn't his Buffy.

"God... damn it!" Buffy ground out. She pulled her arm back as far as she could and shoved her fist into his eye. Dean's grip slackened as he grunted and she dug her nails into the hand on her throat as hard as she could, pulling his fingers further away as he let out another grunt of pain, his eyes drilling her into the wall as he saw whatever the hell he thought he was seeing. He looked murderous, enraged...

Buffy shoved him away as much as she could, using the space to pull back and punch him again, harder and he flew back, slamming into the table by Karen before dropping to the ground like a broken ragdoll.

Buffy's hands wrapped around her throat, sucking in air. She could feel the burning pressure where his fingers had been, each inhale making the burn hurt more, her eyes never leaving his as he stood, his eyes hard and focused. This was no longer the Dean talking to thin air, seeing some strange shit floating around him or whatever the hell was happening... this time, he saw something in her. Something more than what was there...

Which was not good.

Not only that, he was protecting the wrong thing in this room.

"Dean, I'm not what you think I am," she said, her voice cracking. She held a hand up. "Don't."

"Get the fuck out of her," he snarled before lunging at her again and Buffy reacted quickly, moving into his attack and grabbing his jacket before dropping to the ground, her foot coming up as she rolled back, using his own momentum against him as she threw him behind her. She heard him crash into something as she rolled back to her feet, not looking to see if he was coming back.

She only had eyes for the bitch she had tied up in the room with them. She saw her staring back with a sickening smirk on her lips as Buffy grabbed the bag she had brought in with her before that goddamn idiot had started untying her prey. Something crashed behind her as Dean fought to get back in the game but Buffy moved too quickly, the steaming cup in her hand already open and she grabbed the knife, dunking it into the hot blood and she leaned down, looking into Karen's eye.

"Let him go," she growled before shoving the knife into Karen's abdomen, twisting it mightily, digging the blade through her skin and into her organs. Karen let out a pained cry that died quickly into a gasp, her eyes closing in agony as Buffy twisted the blade before shoving it in deeper.

Buffy watched the djinn's skin erupt in the tattoos she so easily kept hidden... until her system was full of lamb's blood.

And then she was about as useful as a limp noodle.

Silence dropped on the room as Buffy let go of the knife, leaving it fixed in Karen as she set the cup of blood down. She felt the hot sticky liquid on her fingers and she rubbed it out on her pants, her face taut. She stared at the woman tied to the chair, where she gaped up at her, a string of blood slipping from her lips. Not enough to kill but enough to incapacitate her... if for a moment.

Buffy cocked her head as Karen's lips moved, tried to speak, but nothing came out as silence descended on the room. Only the sound of blood dripping onto the plastic from Karen's lap echoed and Buffy felt a wild surge of anger in her chest as she heard Dean tripping on something behind her. She turned in time to see him staring at her like he didn't know her before he fell to his knees, retching up stomach-burned beer and food before collapsing, blacking out, his body boneless as it slapped the floor.

Buffy clenched her teeth as hard as she could before letting out a deep breath. The room filled quickly with the acidy smell of whatever he had thrown up, clashing with the metallic tang of the mixed lamb and djinn blood. She shook her head slowly, trying to make her body calm down, the adrenaline rushing through her system barely slowing. Her hands were shaking violently - as they always did when the pressure got to be too much, when she used too much - and she closed her fingers in tight fists, closing her eyes.

She heard Karen moaning in pain but she ignored her, ignored the stench filling the room… Instead, all she felt was that white hot surge of anger again and she couldn't help herself. She turned, grabbing one of the extra folded metal chairs and threw it against the wall behind her with a yell; it crashed into the plaster violently, the twang of the wall cracking under the force echoed by the chair landing noisily on Dean's limp body. He didn't react.

And then just like always, the exhaustion swept through her rapidly, retribution, and she stumbled, grabbing the table to keep her up. Her breathing was labored and her throat still burned from where his fingers had clenched at her.

The stupid idiot had almost let her escape. Let her get away, taking his sanity with him and left her with nothing but an empty goddamn apartment.

A gurgled chuckle met Buffy's ears and her eyes snapped to the djinn. Her lips were pulled back in an ugly grimace, blood coating her teeth. A trail had started leaking from the corner of her mouth as she let out another wet laugh. She licked her lips, her eyes on Buffy.

She didn't give her a chance to speak. Buffy stepped up, her strength returning with her surge of anger. She grabbed the knife and tore it viciously from her stomach, watching as the djinn gasped again before Buffy slapped her. The sound of flesh on flesh bounced through the room as the djinn's head whipped to the side.

Buffy smirked, dropping the knife on the table.

"Laugh it up, bitch, but we're not done," she said softly. The djinn shot her a dark look before cracking another smile. She turned to where Dean had collapsed. His face was lying precariously close to the puddle of his stomach contents, the sickly yellow already leaking into the carpet. She frowned, wrinkling her nose at him as she surveyed the rest of the damage. One leg of the coffee table was broken next to him and the chair she had thrown laid across his legs.

"Dean." He didn't move. She took a small step forward before stopping again, cocking her head. "Dean?"

He didn't respond. Buffy shoved him away from the vomit with her boot, pushing his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, the folded chair sliding to the floor. He was barely breathing and Buffy leaned down, checking his pulse. His skin was hot and clammy and she ignored the tingle in her fingers where their skin touched.

Buffy slapped him. He head just lolled to the side.

"Great," she murmured, leaning down to grab him.

Buffy grunted, her fingernails straining where she gripped Dean's jacket in her fists, dragging his limp body into the bedroom once more. Dropping him unceremoniously to the ground, she looked around the room with disgust and annoyance.

So much for her security deposit.

The lamp was still on the bedspread where he had thrown it; the nightstand he had used to break the doorknob off still sat on its side next to the door.

"Fucking idiot," she muttered, shaking her head before kicking his shoulder lightly. He didn't flinch. The bruised skin on the left side of his face already looked darker from where she had just hit him as a thin line of spittle from where he had thrown up dried on his cheek. Served the moron right: first, he let himself get juiced by the damn thing and then he let her keep doing it, over and over, until he didn't know which way was up and which way was down.

Righting the nightstand, Buffy dragged it back into its corner and grabbed the lamp, slamming it down on the crappy wood before heading back into the living room, closing the door behind her without a second glance at Dean Winchester and his floor bed. Holding the door in place, Buffy reached through the hole where the knob had been before and slipped the little notch back into its lock to keep the door closed.

And then she took a deep breath.

She turned to her prey.

Damn things didn't need long to recover. The djinn smirked from her place in the middle of the room, the glee on her face almost enough to split her head down the middle.

She chuckled at Buffy, her chin still covered in the blood she had spat up. "You gotta admit, I did good with him."

Buffy bit her tongue, narrowing her eyes at the genie. She moved towards the bathroom, throwing a tart, "Shut up," towards the woman as she flipped on the bathroom light and shut that door behind her.

"I've got places to be, girly," the djinn shouted, her voice muffled, and Buffy shut her eyes, hanging her head before slapping her palm on the door. Taking a shaky breath, Buffy turned to her reflection and she frowned at the sight. Her hair was askew, her face pale and she looked like a crack whore underneath the harsh bulb.

Alright... things not exactly going as planned.

"Damn it," she muttered, reaching up with shaking hands to wipe away her smeared makeup. The circles from no sleep over the last 48 hours were deeper and her face felt dry and cracked from the holy water. She grimaced as that reminded her of Dean's extremely sharp knife slicing into her skin. A thin line of dried blood looked bright against her chalky skin. The knife was still jammed into her back pocket and she pulled it out, dropping it in the sink before pushing her jacket sleeve up.

Tearing the shitty towel out of the way, Buffy frowned at the new cut, looking bright and ugly against her already scarred skin.

"Idiot," she grumbled again, pushing the sleeve down before shrugging out of the jacket and throwing it on the toilet. Turning on the faucet, Buffy didn't bother with pretense as she shoved the wound into the stream, hissing as it entered her body, washing away the blood. It wasn't terribly deep but it would probably benefit from stitches and some nice bandages - all of which she did not have. Well, what the hell was yet another mark on her body? Another tread, another notch, another reason?

Buffy closed her eyes against the pain, her mind immediately jumping to Dean. He had literally been out of his mind. She hadn't realized it had been so bad until she'd seen him outside the bar last night. How long had she been tracking this djinn? Long weeks that had quickly started turning into months. And she hadn't been able to get a bead on it until she saw Dean. At first, she had chalked up his weird behavior to too much alcohol - she vaguely remembered the few days she had spent with him and the massive amounts he had consumed. Made sense.

And then he had said her name. He had called another woman by her name and he had looked like he had just seen a ghost. Now that had been curious and Buffy had been prepared to head to his Stepford house and talk to him there but then he had seen something, something she hadn't seen and then he had taken off, heading straight out of town.

Shit hit the fan at a pretty rapid rate after that when she followed him into the forest, heard him shouting, heard him talking to himself. And then he had had a gun when she made her presence known, hoping an old face would bring back some sanity, but it seemed to only make things worse. So much so that she wound up knocking him out, dragging his heavy ass back to his truck where she threw him into the bed and headed back to her skimpy month-to-month apartment where she had been holed up for the last few weeks while on this hunt.

She had then headed back to the forest to grab her bike, leaving Dean's truck parked on the side and under some brush before heading to the bar to do a sweep when she had seen "Karen." Skanky, tattooed-up-the-ass Karen who had the bright blue glowing fingers to go along with her tricks when Buffy jumped her. Sneaky asshole had been smart, finding an actual job, putting herself in the community, making it harder to be found... and now she knew why.

Not that it mattered because that had been all, folks. Case closed, djinn found. A nice, long day of 'let's make the genie talk' and Buffy could get out of town… until Dean comes to and tries to help her escape. She thought she had been doing him a favor, letting him get his bearings before heading back to his normie lifestyle. Instead, he had almost unraveled everything.

"Fucking moron," Buffy snarled again, turning the water off with too much force before grabbing a threadbare towel where it hung next to the sink and wrapping it around her wound. Pressing down hard, she winced as the pain laced through her limb before pressing down harder to stop the bleeding.

A long moment passed before she dropped the towel to the ground and grabbed her jacket, ignoring the slow sludge of blood oozing from her wound, ignoring the way her favorite jacket scraped at it and the damage her blood had done to the leather. Facing her reflection, Buffy took a deep breath, ignoring her shoulder, ignoring the bright image of Dean's face and the hot fear she had felt when he had stared at her like that - like she really was a demon - as she zipped the jacket up to her throat and headed back into the living room.

The djinn was still in her chair, still tied up nice and tight where she had left her. That stupid grin was still smeared on her face and Buffy didn't reciprocate.

"Oh, where'd the peppiness go?" Karen asked as Buffy picked up the brown bag she had dropped and came towards her, her boots squeaking on the plastic. "Did little ol' Dean throw you off there? Does the boat float both ways?"

Buffy just glanced at her, not responding. She sat the brown bag down next to her already bloodied tools, grabbing the knife as she picked up the container of lamb's blood. Karen rolled her eyes.

"You know that just stings, right?" she asked Buffy, watching her tidy up the bloody space. The blood in the container was still hot, fresh from the lamb vein, and it steamed a bit as it hit the cool air of the apartment. "Doesn't actually do any damage. I'm not a piece of shit vampire."

"It does enough," Buffy replied, dipping the knife into the blood. She didn't give any warning as she suddenly turned, jamming it straight into Karen's shoulder. The djinn's mouth dropped open, her eyes squeezing shut and Buffy stared at Karen's skin. Where it had previously been milky white, it now had light and dark blue tattoos spreading across it in reaction to the poisonous blood entering her stream. She smirked. "See?"

Karen chuckled wetly, her eyes still closed with pain as she spoke. "Wanna know what's been going on inside your boy's head?"

Buffy didn't reply, ripping the knife out and Karen's body stiffened in reaction as she gasped for air. The lamb's blood was the only thing that could kill her, yes, and her kind had been fortunate enough to usually escape the other unpleasant effects of the damn crap, getting their hands on people first. It stung, it took some of the edge away from her. It was... unpleasant, which was enough for Buffy.

"He has so many issues," Karen continued, rolling her eyes open to focus on Buffy where she was dipping the knife into the blood once more. "And I'm not even talking about how worthless he feels, how much he wishes he was dead and all that hunter boo-hoo crap... Hell, he's so far off the reservation from your normal run of the mill hunters it was a damn treat."

"So why him?" Buffy asked softly, letting the knife sit in the blood as she crossed her arms and faced Karen. "A lot of effort for a weepy, pathetic hunter."

"Oh, trust me, sweetie, I have my reasons." Karen chuckled. "This was just foreplay. Just a warm up. We had much, much bigger and better plans for that sweet boy until... well, until you showed up. Kinda ironic actually." Buffy raised an eyebrow and Karen didn't wait to continue. "You've got that boy all clogged up - it's like he's drowning in you. I just had to pop a few screws loose and..." Karen made an enlightened face. "You did all of the heavy lifting for me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means little Dean in there has a reservoir inside his head with the name 'Buffy' stamped all over it," Karen replied, smirking when she saw the shock in the blonde's eyes, that she knew her name. "It's like he's got two worlds inside his head. Two Deans, one Buffy. All sorts of fucked up fun."

Karen couldn't read the look on Buffy's face as she stared at her. Karen cocked her head. "Hit a nerve? Maybe I should rephrase it as two Deans and two Buffys... kind of a hot mess, actually..."

Buffy kept her face still as the words processed inside her mind. She didn't understand a damn thing she was saying. Two Deans? Two Buffys? She felt a hot streak through her chest as she remembered what had happened when she had last met Dean... two souls inside one body. Not normal, not natural. How the other soul - the Slayer soul - had started taking over, started integrating itself into her... And then poof, just like that, the strange one was gone...

But not before something had gone terribly wrong...

All this damn time she had spent looking… was the answer right here? Was she that lucky? Or was she that dumb?

Buffy clenched her jaw. "Explain."

Karen shrugged, turning away. "Not my story to tell."

Buffy moved swiftly, her hand darting out and grabbing Karen's chin roughly, forcing her to look back at her. Buffy leaned over so they were eye-to-eye and she smiled coldly at her. "Don't make me ask again."

"Don't tease me," Karen replied mockingly, her tongue sneaking out to lick Buffy's finger and Buffy immediately let her go, whipping her hand out and backhanding the djinn.

"How..." Buffy clenched her fists, forcing herself to calm down. "What did you do to him?" she asked, keeping her voice in check as her mind raced ahead of her. This entire goddamn time she had been searching and Dean had known everything all along? This entire time... when... Buffy pushed it all down, ignoring the incessant itch on her shoulder.

No. This was her battle, her problem. Some random guy she had bedded a few times and who also had a bitch list the size of her leg was not in the solution.

"I just opened a few doors, I already told you."

"You knew my name," Buffy replied, her voice still taut as Karen watched her with a smile. "I thought djinns left the fun to the victims."

"Like I said, it was foreplay… I have a few tricks up my sleeve, little girl."

"Like what, mind-walking? Mind-invading, mind-fucking, whatever you want to call it?" Buffy once again leaned down, bracing herself on the chair handles as she got in Karen's face. "Gave Dean a mind-blowjob, that's nice of you… You got a little looky-loo and you already know my name… so what else do you know?"

Karen shrugged but didn't reply. Buffy's fingers gripped the chair roughly, shaking it a little before pushing off. Her eyes flashed, her face cold.

"Fine," Buffy replied tightly. She grabbed the IV bag and the line with the needle attached at the end and dangled it in front of Karen's face. "There's still plenty more we can talk about before we hit that topic."

"Oh? Like what?" Karen asked, her voice full of mocking eagerness.

"Like the reason I was looking for you... like what you know about souls… since you seem to be so knowledgeable. Guess we just gotta pry that out of you," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't think we're even close to being done talking about that fella you like to call _Daddy_."

* * *

This time when Dean woke up, he felt like he had been hit by three consecutive Mack trucks. He didn't bother opening his eyes. Instead, he stayed on the hard ground, groaning as he tried to move. His shoulder now felt like someone had shoveled little pebbles into all his joints, little pebbles with sharp little edges that were constantly pressing against him in all the wrong ways and his face surely had a mountain the size of Everest on it.

Dean laid on the floor, working on slowing his breathing down as he remembered again how he had gotten to feel this way. Buffy.

Rather, multiple Buffys. Dean frowned as he remembered the woman outside the bar, the man in the spotlight... the forest, seeing himself and seeing Buffy. Buffy with black eyes although that part felt fuzzy and almost like a dream. Like none of it had really happened.

And then Karen tied to a chair, crying… and then fuzziness. His brain felt like it had taken an acid trip, landing on acid stones in his head every few steps, making everything all screwed to hell.

"Oh damn," Dean moaned, trying to roll to his side but not getting very far when his abdominal muscles struggled with pain. "Son of a bitch."

Opening his eyes as he rolled to his side, Dean sat up and saw he was back in the same damn room. He was facing the door which was closed again. There was a jagged hole where the doorknob had once been. Dean shook his head, the pounding in it getting worse as his entire body responded the same.

And mother of all the gods, was he damn hungry.

"Alright, uppy time," he whispered to the room, forcing himself to stand. The room spun again but Dean ignored it, forcing his tree trunk legs to move towards the door.

This time there was no whimpering woman on the other side begging for someone to help her. There was no shouting or pleading. There was nothing but quiet and Dean paused, leaning against the cracked wood for a second, his ears straining.

His fingers jiggled in the hole, finding the lock. No response from the other side and he frowned, taking a deep breath. And then he realized he could take a deep breath.

He was seeing clearly. Like… he could see this fucking door for exactly what it was. Blinking rapidly, he looked around - he could _see_. He felt like himself again, felt like he could think. Almost like a veil of black fog had been lifted from his eyes, a veil he hadn't even noticed he'd been sporting.

His mind ticked back to what he had seen in the living room, the scenes on the ceiling, the double Buffys… and they were all fuzzy, faded. Not real and disappearing quickly, like he had woken up from a year-long nap where you remembered the feelings but the images drained away.

Christ, had all that crap not been real - at all? The conviction of seeing Buffy for all those months rattled him a bit but when he thought about those moments… they were gone. The memories the dreams had been running on were still there, but the flashes: walking next to Buffy, seeing her Jeep… gone.

And then Buffy's beautiful scarred face popped front and center into his head. Every little detail that he remembered intimately - it was her. In the field. In this apartment. She had been real. If anything, the deep surging throb in his stomach told him she had been real…

Another flash came to mind, the double Buffys losing consistency as he remembered what he had seen when her jacket had fallen off. That wasn't fuzzy at all - that had definitely been real. It looked like someone had injected black dye into her skin. That had been just as real as she had been… he had held her, felt her. His fingers ached where he had been gripping her throat and then her shoulder… What in the fuck had that been? Dean shook his head - what had he even seen?

Thanks to the spoon-fed memories from the dick angel, he had every inch of that woman's skin memorized… and that had definitely never been there before.

"Buffy?" he called, his throat dry, the words cracking. He unlocked the door and stepped into the living room.

Nobody was there. Nobody and nothing. The room was exactly as she had probably found it when she first looked at the apartment - the crap couch, the shitty, ugly walls and the stained floor. There were a few dents in the walls but those could have just come with the apartment. And the broken coffee table, that was new.

The plastic was gone, the chair, the bloody instruments… his bartender.

"Buffy?" he called again, frowning as he stepped in. His boot landed in a sickly yellow spot on the carpet and he made a noise of disgust, registering the taste of bile in the back of his throat. Right, he had thrown up like a fucking pansy. "Hello?"

No response. Nothing.

He glanced to the front door and saw a folded note hanging from his keys where they were dangling from the lock. He limped to it, his shoulder creaking with anger as he grabbed the keys, letting them drop to the floor, only caring about the note.

_She was a djinn. Dead now._

That was it.

That was all it said in faux-flowing cursive written in angry blotches judging by the ink marks. Nothing else. No how-have-you-beens. No here-is-what-I-was-doing-all-these-months. No you-were-just-seeing-things. No fuck-I-missed-yous. No damn-you-look-like-ass or what-happened-to-Sams… No explanations, no questions, no thoughts…

Nothing.

The fact that Karen had been a djinn and had obviously been the manipulator behind his mind fuck escapades paled in comparison to the fact that Buffy had barged right back into his life, almost like she had the first time. Like a fucking flare gun right into his brain's eye socket.

Dean realized his hand was shaking after a moment, the note dancing before his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was the knowledge of everything that happened with Karen catching up, the adrenaline from the fight still surging in him or… that she was gone.

Again.

Crumpling the note in his hand, Dean slammed his fist against the door, a trail of curses dying on his tongue. She was gone and probably for good reason, but he didn't care. Something was up. The blotch on her skin, her reaction… and she was definitely doing more than just killing a djinn here judging by the torture scene he had walked into…

Dean felt like his head was on straight for the first time in months. Even if that straight was facing his ass, it didn't matter. Looking around the room, Dean couldn't ignore the alarms going off in the back of his head like it was DEF CON 3…

This time he wasn't running on the fumes of grief…

This time he would find her. There were only so many places she could hide.


End file.
